


Metanoia

by Stygmia



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Drug Use, Fluff, Gangsters, M/M, Mafia AU, New York, Shooting Guns, Slang, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 14:10:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11150058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stygmia/pseuds/Stygmia
Summary: In the streets of New York, more and more gangsters are beginning to plague the streets. Wilson knows the Mob business must be thrilling, but unfortunately for him, his life is quite the opposite. The most exciting thing in his life is a one-month trip to the bar to drown out his thoughts. The side effects of drinking are accompanied by curiosity, but when he decides to gaze for a bit too long at a certain group, he doesn't realize his mistake until he decides to make his way home.





	1. A Few Drinks Can't Kill (Most of the Time)

Of all the things in this world, the ridiculous amount of work hours was the worst to Higgsbury.

This fine gentleman seemed to work without rest, his bones aching with use each day he returned from his day job. Not only was it terrible, but so was his apartment, which lacked proper plumbing and thick walls. Thankfully, it was not part of a complex, and rather a whole building in itself.

Each day he had it the same way, with the very rare pat on the back by his boss, who smoked cigars which lingered in his breath. "Wilson, you're one of my best employees," he would say, "but can't you move any faster? You've got limbs, use them with actual effort." And then he took off into his office, making it reek of smoke as before. Wilson fumed with hate for the man; selfish, dirty.. underpaying. For now, this was the best Wilson could have.

He worked as a writer, journalist, and part-time scientist. Experimenting and writing down his findings was more of a hobby, but he adored it. Though that couldn't make him anything, writing could. In fact, he was already beginning to make a bit of dough from a book he had just recently gotten on the market. It was filled with information about all things magical, mythical, and experimental, as in mixing this and that together to get the effects of whatever the mixture had to offer.

He had already received one letter of praise from an obvious fan of the book, which was titled 'The Guide to The Strange and Stranger', and though he didn't very much like the title, the one who sent the letter seemed to adore it as much as the information and brews they created. Wilson's face lit up as he read the inspiring message, and he felt the proper urge to write a letter back to thank them; he was greatly satisfied after delivering it to the post office to be sent off.

Back to the present-day, Wilson was sitting in his cushioned chair amongst his trusty typewriter. His skinny fingers were pressed against his forehead as he supported his arm by resting it on the table. The gentleman was waiting for inspiration to strike, and he tried thinking harder to hopefully speed up the process.

This had no effect, to his absolute loathing, and he decided it would be best to have a drink. Though he didn't drink much, unlike most in The City, he had a drink on occasion to clear his mind or help him relax a tad bit. Of course, the punishment for drinking too much was gruesome. Hangovers were no fun; the headaches could split your mind and the vomiting was enough to make you feel as if someone stabbed you with a bayonet in the stomach.

Putting those facts aside, he fetched his jacket. It was a bomber jacket, one prized for its warmth, and was something worn by, of course, bombers during the war.

He headed out of his apartment and trotted down the stairs. His outfit was based off of the jacket, a white shirt, some black pants, and a black tie. This was a tad formal, but he didn't feel like changing into more casual clothing. Besides, he enjoyed looking nice from time to time.

He called for a taxi on the sidewalk, and one quickly sped to pick him up. When he approached the driver's window, he told the man his destination, and he nodded with understanding.

Wilson had not experienced the best service from cabs. He once tried to get near one only to have the driver speed away and splash water onto him, but he trusted that wouldn't happen again. He opened the backseat door anyway, and slid into the car onto the leather seats. He shifted for a moment before leaning over, and he began to twiddle his thumbs and think over everything he had done the past week.

Let's see, he had typed down a few short stories he would send to the newspaper, and he continued working on his project for making a serum designed to release dopamine in the limbic system. It was supposed to increase ones sexual desire and feeling of love and/or lust in general. He hoped in would be on the market soon, and he sat wondering about how much it could make in pharmacies on the entire car ride there.

By the time he arrived, he felt drenched in sweat, and if he was it wasn't going through his clothing. Forgetting about his physical appearance, he opened the door to the cab and slipped out, then payed the driver. Wilson was ready to head inside, before he heard the gruff voice of a stranger from behind him. He turned around to see who was speaking, as he expected it was the owner of the cab. And it was.

"If you get too drunk," said the driver, "make sure you get another one of us, eh?" Higgsbury heard the tires squeal as the driver floored it and disappeared, going to find someone else to whisk away in his yellow vehicle.

Wilson shrugged, and moved briskly to the entrance, which had a glowing sign over it. It read, "Jitterbug" in glowing, neon letters. Bars normally looked this way, so he payed no mind to it and continued inside.

Music immediately rushed to his ears, making his stomach drop for a moment before he calmed down again. A band was playing a popular tune, "In The Mood". It was one of his own favorites, and he synced what he knew with what was playing while he strode over to the counter.

"Alright, what'll you have?" said the bartender. She was cleaning out a glass with a rag, but maintained eye contact with her customer.

"Just some hard liquor," Wilson responded, and the bartender nodded. She turned and grabbed a glass to prepare his drink, and Wilson's attention drifted elsewhere. The lively music was enough to keep Wilson patient as he waited. There were about 5 musicians in the band, he noticed, each having a different part to play as they scanned their sheet music and honked the familiar notes. Higgsbury wished he could play an instrument, but his fingers never got used to it.

He whipped his head forward when he heard the sound of glass slamming on wood. With a downward glance, he took the cup of alcohol and sipped it gradually, like it was something that had to be savored. Of course, it was, but many did not think of it as something to taste, and rather something to just get drunk on.

Wilson's gaze began to drift off again, and this time he was paying attention to the others in the bar. He noticed what he assumed was a couple sitting together, their heads close together while the male attempted to swoon his partner, who was blushing and grinning with arousal (or, more likely, over-drinking).

Next, a man with bleach blonde hair and ocean blue eyes came into his view. In his pale hands he was clutching a cocktail glass, and a few seconds after noticing that, he saw his hair was rather disheveled, along with the tie around his neck. Wilson stared at him for a few seconds more, before he thought of how strange it would be if the man caught him gazing with wide eyes. His eyes flickered away from the stranger to search for others.

Taking another sip of his liquor, he began to examine a group of men sitting in one of the corner booths. The group wore black fedoras, and coats colored black. Mugs were scattered across the table, all empty, and a ashtray sat in the middle. Thick smoke was emitting from the grey ashes as the men continued pressing their cigars to their lips.

Wilson noticed one of the men stuck out in particular. The hair on the side of his face had grey streaks, and the men around him seemed to be leaning to him instead of him leaning in the middle as a group. He was the center. The leader, it seemed. He was just . . . Conspicuous. Standing out in an obvious way.

The group erupted with sudden laughter, and Wilson jumped with shock in his seat. Thank god, Wilson thought, that his drink didn't spill when he popped up like that. Then Wilson remembered he wasn't finished with it anyway, and drank what was left. When he was done he placed his glass down on the counter, and his gaze and attention went back to the bartender for another moment.

The evening continued on with Wilson ordering 1, 2, 3 drinks, until he decided he should be heading home. Besides, it was hard enough to tell the time anyways, which was not a good sign due to his vision fading.

Wilson pulled out a few dollars and placed them on the counter, then stood and placed his hands on his lower back, helping him not collapse with how tense his back had become. He smoothed his hair back and took a deep breath after he was finished stretching, which he only stopped doing when he heard his back pop in bliss. Honestly, he couldn't remember if it had popped in the first place. If it hadn't, he would continue pulling himself together anyway.

"If I'm going to do anything, it's get a taxi," Wilson said to himself out of random. "God, I need to go home and work."  
He stepped casually out the door, slipping past the drunk newcomers and lightweights to the side of the building. His thin fingers reached to his face, and he touched the bags underneath his eyes just to tell himself how little rest he got.

Wilson groaned and covered his eyes. He slid his pam over his face like he was trying to wipe something off, and then bent his head to face the grey, rocky concrete. He could feel his eyes fluttering, feel his heart slowing down in surrender to the idea of sleeping with his back to bricks. Was this supposed to happen? Did this ever happen to anybody but himself?

What could he do about it? Complaining never helped, and he was just an unfortunate guy. Luck never came his way, unless it just happened to go around the wrong corner, but when it did it always turned around and found its way back to where it really wanted to go.

Cutting the deep thoughts and consideration for himself, he finally stood, and aching knees were there to welcome his action. Without hesitation, Wilson began to walk, wandering where he hoped his home was. The memory of it was blurred enough.

He turned this corner and that, going through alleys and brick buildings to get to his destination. He had never crossed danger in this path, but he was, more-or-less, sober the last time he came this way. Surely, the odds of getting into any danger now were very low.

Too bad Lady Luck just so happened to be on her way to slap him in the fucking face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 50's Slang Dictionary:
> 
> The City - another name for New York
> 
> Floor it - hitting the gas pedal of a car to such an extreme amount, it hits the floor
> 
> Popped/pop in - arrive somewhere  
> -  
> The next chapter will be much longer, but yeah. That's it for now! Please excuse any mistakes in this chapter, because most of it was written at 2-3 AM. If you do see any mistakes, please tell me in the comments. Support is also very welcome, obviously.
> 
> You can find me at Stygmia on tumblr and Pharisia on Instagram.


	2. Something to Remember Me By

"Damn it!" Wilson cursed, fumbling with taking the house keys out of his pocket. His mind was too boggled from drinking to properly retrieve his keys. His home was far; however, he didn't want to search for them when he arrived, wearier than ever.

He rounded another corner. He was only casting eyeballs to the keys in his hand, not paying any mind to what might be in front of him. The only thing concerning him was that he needed to get home. His gaze remained down as he strolled through the comforting streets.

With a sudden burst of energy, he began to get a slight lift in his step, moving his feet this way and that. His eyes went half lidded while he did a small jig, but when he stopped, they went back to being open. Everything seemed fine. A drink to fix his worries, a bit of a boggled mind, and the cool night air around him.

Something pushed him out of his private thoughts and knocked the air out of him. He focused his eyes, and realized someone had stepped in his path. Polished, black and pointed shoes indicated that it was someone with a bit more cash than most. Seeing that the stranger wasn't moving, his eyes began to trail up to see who it was blocking his way. Fine black pants and a pure white shirt covered a massive figure, and as his eyes continued to move upward, he caught the man's face, which was scared and thick like his body.

Wilson's heart skipped a beat at how those eyes stared into him. His expression was unreadable, but Wilson knew the emotion he was feeling was not something pretty. "Excuse me," Wilson mumbled, tilting his chin up and walking past.

He felt a hand stop on his shoulder, and every muscle in his body tensed to the point where it hurt to breathe. A grunt from behind him broke the silence, and the last thing Wilson could remember was the 'whoosh!' of wind as an object darted through the air, and hit him hard enough to send him unconscious, and possibly to the hospital later.

-

Someone shined a bright light in his eyes, and after going over what might be happening, he began to panic and squirm with desperation. Little did he know his hands were tied; literally, they were bound tightly with ropes.

"Moving isn't going to do much good right now." The disembodied voice pierced through Wilson's ears, and a number of images flashed into his head as he tried to pair the voice with who it may belong to. "I suggest you stop writhing like a worm and tell us your name," the voice rumbled. "Don't be shy."

Wilson was hesitant at first, and concentrating was hard with the light shining through his eyelids. If his heart wasn't beating so fast, he would not say anything, no way. But he knew this was someone dangerous, and he did not want to die today. "Wilson," he mumbled, "My name is Wilson." The lump in his throat seemed to be getting smaller, but it was still present, unfortunately.

"Hm. Well then, Wilson," Higgsbury could hear the heels of shoes clacking on the floor, coming closer and closer. His heart sped up by fourfold. His hands wanted so badly to move, and he wanted to badly to calm down, but Wilson soon realized that was impossible. 'Bam!' went his chair as two hands slammed down on the left and right of the back. "Tell me, tell us, why you were casting eyeballs so eagerly at my boys and I."

He had to go back and think over the groups of people he saw that day; a few people along the sidewalk, a few teens smoking in an alleyway, a group of teenage boys talking among a crowd. Who else? He pushed and prodded around in his brain for another group, some people he had seen out of random, that he may have payed a bit more attention to than others.

Then it hit him. At the bar, the group of men in the corner, smoking happily away and telling jokes while Wilson watched and drank.

"You don't have all day, hotshot," said the man, "Answer the damn question." The smell of smoke began to fill Wilson's nostrils from behind him, indicating the stranger was smoking. He began to cough violently when the fumes were blown into his face. Not only did his throat begin to burn, his eyes teared up too. "I-," began Wilson, stopping his sentence to cough again, "I was only glancing around. I-I don't know if it seemed suspicious to you, but I was only curious."

Wilson leaned down and opened his eyes while he waited for a response. 

"I see. Well, I have another question." There was a pause from the man as he took a pull on his cigarette. "How did they treat you on the way over here?"  
"They?" Wilson questioned, shoulders shifting. 

"My boys. I hope they didn't give you much trouble, besides the fact that we tied you up," he grumbled.

Wilson began to fume and only started struggling in his seat more. "One of them hit me in the fucking head with a bat! Damn, it still hurts. That guy sure had some swing." He pursed his lips and continued to think about how great it would be to have some ice on the bump slowly rising from his injury.

There was another pause, one that made the air seem bitterly cold. Wilson grew slightly nervous, and began to wonder if he had said the wrong thing. He winced slightly when the same voice from before spoke up. "Hmm, did they now?" A sharp tone lingered in his statement. "Well, I do apologize. I only meant to ask you a few questions, though the light and rope were a required thing, from my experience of interrogation. People don't like being asked questions at random. Some can get a bit too...violent. Even when trying to just bash ears at the bar, people can get so intimidated by a guy in a fancy suit and shoes. Then again, can't be too careful these days."

Another brief moment of silence, before Wilson decided he should say something too.

"When I saw you all sitting in that booth," he said, a faint image of the scene on his mind, "I knew you were some different men. Most of the men just go there to catch some girls, but I had never seen anyone like you guys in a bar. You just sat there and talked, sipping your drinks and pulling on your cigars. I think one of the things that really seemed strange was how you were in a regular street bar in such nice clothes. You were too different for it to not be suspicious."

Wilson twisted his head to try and spot the man, realizing that he had never seen this guy to begin with. His head began to flood with a number of questions, and his mouth poured them out. "Who are you? Who are all of you? Besides that, would you mind, er, getting me untied?-"

"Geez pal, what, are you writing a book? Cool it, and I will answer your questions later. Anyhow," he said, moving away from the chair and off into the shadows to speak about the situation at hand. Wilson opened opened his mouth to speak but decided to say nothing in the end. "Rick, hit the light. Frank, you untie him, and both of you get him in the car when you're done. We're taking this guy home, but I want to talk to him for a bit longer. I don't know what he's got in him, but it's something. I can feel it." He took one last puff on his cigar, taking a moment to glance back and enjoy what was left, before pressing the end into an ashtray and approving his orders to be completed.

Once the men he assigned had all scrambled to complete their tasks, he took his time to toss on his coat and touch his hair up a tad more. With hurried steps to the car in pouring rain, he waited for his guest to arrive, and distracted himself by watching the rain pitter-patter against the window. To him, it was as entertaining as one could hope it would be, so there he sat with crossed arms and wondrous eyes while he watched the droplets slide down.

A few minutes afterwards, Higgsbury was tossed into the back of the van by Rick and Frank, landing painfully on the side of his shoulder.

They shut the door firmly but not hard enough to shake the car. It wouldn't be hard for them to do it anyway. They were big guys, who would most likely do anything for their rather unique job.

Wilson lifted himself off the seat with aching hands and a sore back, the pain making the task a bit more difficult than it should have been. When he was sitting upright again, he began to twirl and massage his wrists, thankful that the rough ropes tying his hands together had been cut and done with. With a blissful sigh, he leaned up against the cool window. His eyes felt heavy, and he wanted nothing more than to curl onto his nice, warm bed, and (finally) rest.

"Tired already?"

Wilson popped up, and nearly hit his head on the roof of the car. God, he had to stop doing that if he valued not having a concussion. He hissed and turned to the only other in the car. At least, the only one in the backseat. "Would you please stop doing that?" he said, now massaging the back of his head to calm himself down.

"My apologies. We haven't properly met and you have yet to know my name." He stuck his hand out and continued. "Maxwell's the name, and being Boss is my game." Maxwell pulled a cigar from his pocket and pressed it to his lips with a slight grin. While using the fingers on his left hand to steady the cigar, he used his other hand to grab a lighter. He pressed the flame to the tip of the tobacco and took a quick draw.

As he continued to smoke, Maxwell looked over to find Wilson's eyes filled with a seemingly confused look. His brows went down and he glanced back to the window, a bit irritated because of the lack of his understanding. "To be more clear, " he said, letting out a slight sigh, "I am the Boss of a group in what we all know as the Mafia. Now, I know don't have to worry about you blabbering about my business in this, er, branch, because you have already seen what we are capable of."

"At least by now I do pray you have learned a thing or two about our strengths. Just to be clear, though," he paused and shot his hand to the side, suddenly grabbing a handle that Wilson hadn't noticed before. He began to pull it forward, having to move out of his seat slightly to pull what the handle was latched to shut. When Wilson looked to his side, he found a new 'window' between them and the driver. "I will give you an example. Say you told the heat about this. Say they were to come looking for us, going by where you told them we brought you tonight. I'm going to say this and say it now: The cops wouldn't be able to find us, so you would just be thrown off as some crazy person, maybe drinking a bit too much for your own good."

"Now, look, you seem like a good guy, but this would be like a 'friend-steals-acquaintance's-valuables-because-they-think-they-can-get-away-with-it' scenario. The friend would find out, and the friend would find them, approach them, and only do what he thought was necessary to teach the guy a thing or two. Unless he was a pretty swell guy, but that's not the point." Maxwell's sharp gaze looked all the more menacing with the burning tip of his cigar illuminating the dark car. Wilson was beginning to gather a lump in his throat, but his mouth was already dry.

"Continuing with what I was saying before I brought up that example," he waved his hand and lowered his head slightly, "They would most likely dismiss you as a frail lightweight, who only imagined that they were taken by the Mafia of all things, saying that it was just another drinker assisting a fellow man such as yourself in getting home. You would have woken up, using the man helping you home to fuel a dream of adventure with a few of my pals. So, it would have seemed like a crazy dream-journey to everyone else, when it really did all happened. Every single second of it. Wouldn't like that too much, huh?"

Wilson remained speechless. What would you say after something like that? 'Aw, sorry, sir. I wouldn't dream of tattling on you to the cops. Please know this was just an accident, even though it's my fault I still drink and can't hold my liquor for shit. Even though I only have some occasionally, and in large doses, I still manage to stay a lightweight!' He stared aimlessly at the leather seats for a few seconds before lifting his hand and running his fingers through his hair. "This, hm.." he paused, glancing up and seeing Maxwell rolling the cigar between his fingers, "is a lot to take in."

"Possibly because you're still a bit drunk. And you are running on what little energy you have left." Maxwell blew softly through his nose, laughing at his own joke. He pressed the cigar back up to his lips and continued puffing. The car only didn't reek of smoke because of his slightly open window.

Wilson rubbed his arm and leaned further down. This was a big adventure, one he may not have been ready to handle for the rest of his life without telling anybody. That was something nearly impossible for him, keeping secrets in for long periods of time. If he could forget easily, it would be better. But his mind refused to forget the things he wanted to forget the most.

Though he continued to smoke peacefully on his cigar, the peace was interrupted by the sight of a supposedly pouting Wilson in his eye. Maxwell frowned and furrowed his brows together. "What's the issue?"

Wilson jerked his head to the side and quickly began to wave his hands in dismissal. "Nothing! it's.. nothing. I'm just thinking." He glanced down, and began to pick at his fingernails anxiously.

"Spit it out. I want to know and we haven't got all night. Your home is some way across town, and we aren't much farther away from it."

"I just, uhm.. I just don't know how I am going to live with this on my chest for so long. I have always been bad at keeping secrets for a while. It's too much to handle." Wilson began to think over the childhood memories where he was either spilling a secret, or trying very hard not to.

"Well, ain't that a bite?" Maxwell said after a few moments of staring at the only other in the backseat. "Too bad, anyway." He shrugged and began to run his fingers gently on the leather of the seat. He leaned forward and shut his eyes, the cigar supported by his fingers.

"What's the name of your group?" Wilson asked, curiosity filling his mind and sending his fingers tapping on the edge of his seat.

Maxwell looked over, and hesitated before changing his position to face Wilson. "Are you sure you want to know that? You said secrets are hard enough to keep. This will just be another one. Well, in this case, it isn't really a secret. More like something I'm just asking you not to blabber about." He trailed off as he finished his final comment. 

"I'm sure." Wilson nodded, trying to hurry it up because he was only a half-mile from home now.

"Suit yourself, but you still musn't speak of it," he took a deep breath, leaning in slightly. Wilson held his own breath as he listened. "We are called the Carter Crime Organization, after me. They changed it shortly after our old boss died, and when the Family was just getting started. We have grown to be a huge group, thriving and just as popular as all of the other big leagues." Maxwell paused, feeling his body jerk forward just a bit as the car stopped. He looked out the window for a moment, before turning back to Wilson. "Alright, this is your stop. Wilson," he said, breathing out and shifting. "I have enjoyed your company on this drive. Maybe you won't have to keep this all a secret so suddenly. I have a plan, but I will only say it once so listen. Closely." One of Maxwell's workers opened Wilson's side door, causing both of them to cast their attention away from the conversation before Maxwell continued.

"If you want to be a part of this a bit longer, be at Port Jefferson by 8:15 PM. There should be a ferry at the dock, but bring this or you can't get on." Maxwell reached into his pocket, slowly pulling out a metal key engraved with a twisted crow. "Do as you please while you wait for my assistants and I, but if you say you're coming you must be there. Otherwise I will send someone to come here and collect the key. So are you going or not?"

There was silence between the two while Wilson went over all that could go wrong. There were things to think about, but he took the bizarre feeling in his gut as an urge to just go. "Alright, I will be there. 8:15 PM, with the key." He plucked the key from Maxwell's palm and placed it in his own pocket. He reached to unbuckle his seatbelt, and when he heard it click, swung his legs over the seat and onto the pavement. He only turned his head slightly to dismiss himself properly. "Goodnight, Maxwell."

The assistant shut the door, and led him away to his run-down apartment. Wilson went up the steps on his own and opened the door with the keys he was trying to retrieve much earlier. The door creaked when he opened it, but he payed no mind to it. It was something that happened often.

The last thing anyone would see of him that night would be his pale arm as he shut the door and disappeared inside until morning, when a slight headache and queasy stomach would be there to greet him.

"Oh dear.."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 50's Slang Dictionary:
> 
> Casting eyeballs/eyeball - to glance
> 
> Bash ears- to talk
> 
> Are you writing a book? - you're asking too many questions
> 
> A tad - a bit, or a small amount
> 
> Heat - the police
> 
> Frail - broke, without money
> 
> Ain't that a bite? - that's too bad  
>  -  
> Side note: my favorite part is when Wilson just tries to walk past a giant dude and play it off, but winds up getting whacked in the head with a fucking bat


	3. A Party Like No Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson goes to the party, but not everything goes entirely as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a little note at the end for you guys to express my gratitude, but keep reading, kiddos!

By 6:00 PM, Wilson had already begun debating over wether to wear his usual vest, or go with a tux like a gentlemen. The vest would look more casual, and the tux looked formal, but what kind of event was this? One with a group of gangsters aboard a ferry boat, along with something Wilson had never experienced and never even thought of experiencing. The thought was far too odd, but he went over the basic facts while he stood in black pants, no shirt covering his chest just yet.

In the end, he had chosen to wear a black vest, something he found in the very back of his closet. He questioned why he had put it so far back but realized it may have been for his habit of only wearing red vests and disliking anything else in his wardrobe.

Putting these facts aside, he reached for his white button-down shirt and draped it over his shoulders. The cool cloth sent goosebumps crawling on his skin, but he payed no mind to it. His only concern was looking well enough for something like this, though he should have been working.

Wilson scolded himself for not being progressive that day. The only thing he had done was recover from his slight hangover and read his old papers about the Seven Wonders of the World. Even so, he was glad to have a break from work. He was hoping to leave his old job soon anyway. It had put too much negativity in his mind, his boss making him feel like his work wasn't worth being put into a, "luxurious trashcan".

He would never know if it truly was good though, because the thought of someone else reading his work made him itch with anxiety. In conclusion, he would be too nervous to let anyone read it besides those close to him.

Beside the matter of embarrassment, he had no one that was close to him anyway.

Wilson shook his head and slide off of his mattress, which he had settled on to think. He picked up his vest and wrapped it around his slim figure, smiling with satisfaction over the thought of how he looked. His full body mirror, which sat in the corner of his small room, was soon filled with Wilson's reflection as he gazed into it, examining his clothes. He had not looked this nice in a long time, so it made him proud to wear something like this after a year or two. A grin spread across his face as he began posing, using the casual form of the hand-on-hip. He twisted his body and turned his head to see how he would look from behind, and was pleased with how he looked both ways.

Wilson made his way to the bathroom, looking to retrieve his watch. He skimmed across the counter before finding the tray that held it. He adored this watch, mainly because it was a gift from his father, but otherwise he was glad that it worked well. He would never have been able to afford it with his own money.

After taking the time to admire his watch, he checked the face, gasping when he saw it was already 7:00 PM. With the extra time it would take to spiff up and the time to drive there by cab, he may not make it in time. In fact, Port Jefferson was some way out from where he lived, maybe 45 minutes away, and with the traffic it would take longer. Then the time it would take to actually get out of the door and fetch a cab..

Shit, he was wasting enough time already. Now scolding himself aloud for his foolishness, he clicked his watch around his wrist and slammed his palms on the countertop. He smoothed his hair back, taking a deep breath.

Then he grabbed a comb.

-

"You seem anxious," said the cab driver, who was beginning to annoy Wilson with his constant rambling. "What's the deal?"

Wilson sighed, slumping down slightly, his fingers twitching with anxiety. "I can't tell you exactly what the situation is," he began, pausing, "but I feel like something is strange about what I'm doing, where I'm going."

The cab driver was now as confused as Wilson, but maybe a little less. He moved his hands over the wheel, shifting slightly. "Seems like a sticky situation, but as much as I would like to understand, I don't." He twisted his head back to see Wilson but twisted himself back just a second after. "Sorry, bud."

Wilson was drifting off, his eyes looking at the darkening sky from the closest window with wonder, but he still heard every word the driver said. "It's alright," he mumbled. "Er, what time is it?"

"8:05, sir."

Wilson's heart skipped a beat, and a panicked feeling immediately kicked in. "Oh, fuck.." He began to quietly tell himself to breathe. 'Don't panic, Wilson. We must not be that far," he thought, his body filled with a touch of anger, but it was still mainly occupied by panic. "How much longer until we get there?"

"Eh, about 20 minutes. I'm a casual driver."

Wilson shook his head slightly. "Well, I have some news, pal," he was clutching the edge of his seat now, "you gotta speed up. I have someplace to be, and 10 minutes is what I needed, but hell no. It's 20. 20 minutes," he hissed, but that wasn't all he had to say. This man was pissing him off. ‘Casual driver my ass,’ Wilson thought. 

"Let me find the term for what I am asking. if you would be so kind as to 'slam on it', I would be most happy.” He gritted his teeth, now smiling in order to keep himself under control. "I'll even pay extra, but please. You have to go faster."

He now really wanted to go to this party, and his behavior was an example of his desperation to get to it.

The driver hesitated for a moment before shrugging with an 'alright', and pressed the gas pedal to where Wilson had to shut his eyes and hold on tight in order to not go flying. It wasn't that fast at first, but by every second they were going faster.

Objects whizzed by the window, mainly cars, but the only thing that seemed to catch his eye was the moon. It was shining much brighter tonight than usual. He wasn't complaining.

"Alright, what's the time.." he muttered to himself and pulled up his wrist to look at his clock. The hands read 8:12, but before he panicked, he took to mind that they were most likely very close by now. "How much longer until we arrive?"

"You're already here, bud," the driver grunted in reply, and the click of the car locks echoed in their ears. Wilson pulled on the door-handle and nearly tossed himself out onto the pavement. He looked up to search for the ferry and sighed with relief when he saw it being boarded. Then he remembered he hadn't even paid his driver.

He pulled out his wallet in search of cash. He found a 10 and a 5, but he didn't have the time to collect change; he only needed to pay the man and go, so that's exactly what he did. His shoes clacked on the pavement as he jogged towards and onto the gangplank. Wilson started to slow down, just to be safe, but it was difficult trying to contain his excitement. A guard stood at the entrance to the ferry, and he looked at Wilson the entire time he was fumbling up. There were ropes on the sides of the plank, but it did not help him keep his balance much.

When he made it to the guard, he was panting hard from exhaustion. The guard looked over him while Wilson bent over, placing his hands on his knees to breathe easier. "In order to enter, you must have an invitation," said the guard, wrinkling his nose slightly. "Do you have one?"

"Y-yes," Wilson replied, "it's just in my pocket. Give me a moment." Wilson reached back and searched his pocket for the key Maxwell had given him the night before. A burst of panic went through his veins as he realized he might have left it, but he began to calm down when he felt the key deep down in his pants pocket. Wilson breathed a sigh of relief and pulled out the metal key to hand to the guard.

He held it out for him to take, but the man only stared at the key for a matter of seconds. This led Wilson to believe something was wrong. Maybe his appearance? He was wearing what he thought was nice and was now standing straight and tall. "Is something wrong?"

A pause. "No," said the guard, finally taking key into his palm. He put it into his palm, clutching it, while Wilson watched, confused.

The guard continued to look down at Wilson, staring at him almost mockingly. He slowly shut his eyes and waved his hand in a quick motion, his fist still clutched, before he unfurled his fingers to reveal an empty palm.

What the hell?

The man stepped aside with a wicked smile and stuck out his hand to the side with the palm up; a common gesture meaning 'enter'. So that's what Wilson did, but hesitantly. He was still curious about the random magic trick that man had performed.

He turned to look at the party and found a room filled with tables, along with a bar to the side. It was dimly lit, but no one here seemed to mind. Men sat at tables, some drinking in taller glasses than most. Some were talking, some were listening. There were more people than Wilson expected, but this did not interfere with him wanting to still be present.

He began to walk to the bar, walking past table after table with a bit of difficulty. Wilson was trying his best not to bump into anyone, to avoid embarrassment and a few stares.

He was shot a few questioning looks anyway.

When Wilson finally made it to the bar, he immediately ordered a glass of whiskey. As the bartender turned to fix it up, he pulled out his wallet to pay for the alcoholic beverage, but when he placed the money on the counter by his drink, the bartender made no move to take it. "I hope you realize everything you get right now is paid for by the party host," he said, cocking an eyebrow.

"Oh." Wilson laughed and took his drink, then held up his hand in apology. He grabbed his money and placed it in his pocket before walking away. He scanned the room for Maxwell but still saw nothing of him. He had no other choice but to ask someone else in the room.

Wilson briskly made his way to a table with what seemed like had some of the most energetic guys. He had found that the most energetic people tended to be more relaxed than most. If he could just not humiliate himself by using a strange tone, he would be alright. "Excuse me," he said, alerting all of the current table members, "I, uh, do you know where the boss is? I need to.. speak with him."

The men all looked at each other, before the one closest to Wilson set his glass down and peered up. "Sorry, we haven't seen him. Check the deck, he might be drinking. Probably needs some company anyway."

Wilson's chest filled with delight at how kind they were, especially to a total stranger. "Thank you," he said, then turned on his heel to find Maxwell. He wished to speak with him about the symbol on his invitation, or the key he was given to get onto the ferry. Yet as he was walking away, he heard one of the table members make a comment; specifically, the one he spoke to about Maxwell.

"What an idiot. Thinks he's actually friends with Maxwell. You're kidding, right?"

The table got a few laughs, but Wilson stopped in his tracks, taking the time to let that comment sink in. He could feel the agitation in his veins when he turned back around to show the stranger what for. His shoes clacked with his voice while he made his way over.

"How about you come say that to my face next time?" Wilson said, his voice startling the distracted man. "Too much of a coward to even try?"

"Oh, you wanna start something?" 

"Surely you do too, with the trash you're talking."  
The same stranger growled at Wilson's remark, while Wilson was casting a menacing gaze down to him. If he wanted to fight, so be it. All of the other men were cheering them on, not particularly choosing a side. "Why, you little.." 

"Say it, asshole," Wilson said, taking a step forward and stopping when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Hello boys," he purred, glancing to Wilson and all of the other men before him, "is there a problem?"

He was dressed in a grey tuxedo, along with a black tie and pants. One strange thing that he put together with his outfit was a pair of black gloves, but they seemed to make him look more powerful. His shoes were black as well.

Each of the men looked above Wilson, making sure they were giving the Boss their full attention. In an instant, the quiet air was filled with blaming and finger pointing. "W.X. started it!" One man said, pointing to the one who had talked with Wilson in the first place.

"Nobody cares who started it," Wilson said, jerking his shoulders from Maxwell's grasp and moving to the table again. "You're just looking to start fights, ‘W.X’. Whatever your name is," Wilson mumbled, clenching his free hand into a fist to the point where his fingernails would embed crescent moons into his palms.

"Boys, boys!" Maxwell said, a cheerful tone in his voice, even for scolding them. He had stepped up to stand beside Wilson. "There is no need to argue. I did, in fact, invite him to the party. You can ask Nixon outside, because he took his key. Let's all just calm down. I'm not letting this party get busted because you two started a silly fight and blew something up. Besides that, I would like you to introduce yourselves."

W.X. attempted to protest, but Maxwell raised a hand to cut him off. "Ah! You will do as I order you. Now, from the top, with you first." Maxwell pointed to W.X. and let them continue.

"Alright, fine," he said, rising from his chair to stand in front of Wilson. "My name is W.X., pleased to meet you," he said in a monotone voice. "Now it's your turn."

"Alright," Wilson said. "My name is Wilson," he placed his hand on his chest and bowed slightly, "pleased to meet you as well, W.X."

"Oh please," W.X. said with clenched teeth, "call me Wix." He held out his hand for Wilson to shake, and Wilson slowly did so. They each wiped their hand on their jeans when they pulled away. Wilson was still holding his glass of whiskey, and he downed a sip of it before glaring at Wix again.

Maxwell watched them with a grin, amused by their blossoming hate for each other. He hoped it wouldn't be like this forever, but he couldn't be sure of what would happen. His attention drifted from his thoughts to the table, and the laughs and chuckles of the men became clearer. "Alright, men, now it's your turn! Stand and introduce yourselves at once."

Their laughter instantly faded, and their faces were covered with looks of confusion, along with some neutrality. Some shrugged, but they all stood one by one to say their names, going from left to right. "I'm Wolfgang," one said, noticeably strongest out of them. To Wilson, he looked like a weightlifter in the circus. The line continued on. "I'm Woodie," said another, who had a noticeably thick accent that was possibly Southern. With his appearance, he had a thick, red beard and wore a plaid shirt.

The second man paused, showing that he was finished. They all looked at the third, who looked around like he had no idea what was going on. 'Who, me?' His expression seemed to ask. Wolfgang spoke for him. "Wes cannot speak, but he is a good man. Very good eye."

Wes nodded, a smile now covering his pale face. Wilson noted how pure Wes seemed for someone in the Mafia.

"Excellent!" Maxwell boomed, making Wilson jump a good few inches off of the ground. He was just thankful his whiskey didn't spill. "Now, Wilson," Maxwell said, wrapping his arm around Wilson's shoulder, "if you want to talk, it's best to do it in private." He gripped Wilson tighter, and raised his other hand to bid farewell. "I will return soon, gentlemen. Until then, enjoy the time you have." And with that, Maxwell whisked Wilson away; away from the company of his assistants, away from the eyes of all others, and pulled out a cigar. They were now standing on the deck.

"Before you say anything, I would like to apologize on behalf of my men for their actions." He pulled out his lighter and pressed the flame to the tip of his tobacco. "Knowing Wix, he probably rattled your cage by saying something stupid. Just ignore him, if you can." While he puffed away on his cigar, he moved over to the side of the ship and rested his elbow on the railing, keeping one up to smoke.

Wilson shrugged and made his way over to stand beside Maxwell. He copied his stance and sipped his alcohol, staring blankly into the distance. The buildings gleamed with all shades of yellow and orange. The City echoed with honking cars and distant sirens, but anyone who lived in New York would know that it really was a city that never slept.

Eventually, Wilson ran out of alcohol and was left with only ice and water. He decided to not get anymore until later and sat his glass on the ground. When he stood back up he put himself in the same position as before, but shifted slightly. He took a deep breath and turned his head to Maxwell. "From what I've seen tonight, I have some.. questions."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wilson's tux link : https://goo.gl/images/EM1ri0  
> Maxwell's tux link: https://goo.gl/images/ZJW8MY  
> -  
> The 50's Slang Dictionary:
> 
> Face - a clock (the front)
> 
> Spiff up - fix to look nice or better
> 
> What's the deal? - What's wrong?
> 
> Burn rubber - to accelerate hard and fast
> 
> Rattled/Rattle your cage - got/get upset  
> -  
> ah fuck THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH for being so supportive about this. This is my first Maxwil fanfic but it's one of my favorite pairs. My friend has already talked about making fanart so if anyone has something for it, my tumblr is Akumahi and i will probably post something about it there if someone asks in my inbox (or in the comments here i don't care)  
> -  
> aLso PLEASE point out any errors that i couldn't see thank you


	4. We Need To Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell and Wilson have a chat about the Family buisness.

"Shoot," said Maxwell, blowing out cigar smoke gently between his lips.

"Well, first of all," Wilson twiddled his thumbs, trying to gather his thoughts, "The guard. When I got here, he asked to see my key, so I gave it to him. Except he didn't put it anywhere. When I handed him the key, he put it in his palm, waved his wrist, then opened his hand to show it had disappeared. It was like something out of a movie. Is he a magician?"

Maxwell shut his eyes and pulled back from the side. "Well, the simple answer is yes, he is a magician. But one thing you need to know is that this Mob is not one most would consider average."

Wilson cocked at eyebrow and stood straight up. He made his way over behind Max, standing on his toes to peer slightly over his shoulder. "What do you mean, 'not average'?"

Maxwell huffed. "We aren't your typical Family. We don't work the same as all of the others. We have different strategies, different styles. You have surely heard of our work around the streets of New York, and if you haven't, we are known for our work being done with bizarre methods. We use something different."

"Like _what_ , Maxwell?"

He whipped around to face Wilson, a sly grin on his face as he whirled his cigar between his fingers. "We used _magic_ ," he said, and as he spun the tobacco between his fingers faster, it was soon gone in an instant. "It's sorcery, enchantment, and the trick of the mind. We still use guns and such, but that's a well-known fact. I just hope you understand we are not what you could consider a circus act. Nixon, that guard that took your key, is one of my best members. That's why he did a magic trick, to display his abilities and wow you before you even got here. He does tend to show off a bit, however.

" Sadly, you seemed more angry than wowed by the time I found you." Maxwell shook his head, then waved his hand, making the cigar magically appear between his fingers. He continued puffing on the tobacco, putting it to the side of his mouth to speak. "I do hope you are enjoying yourself now, anyway."

Wilson was gazing in awe at Maxwell. Even for a genius, the tricks seemed to baffle him, and they were deemed 'simple' by other performers. He shook his head. "How did you do that?" he asked, changing the subject. "I mean, I've heard of the Carter crime family and it's work, but no one can tell me for sure how you do it. And they definitely forgot to mention the tricks."

"It's something you must master. It’s that simple. But the mastering part is not, I can assure you. Ah! Stupid fucking cigar.." He had burnt his finger on the tip of it, and was now rapidly shaking his wrist back and forth in some effort to relieve the pain. As he was doing so, a few cards fell onto the ground from his sleeve, and he quickly rushed to pick them up.

Wilson was snickering to the side at the sight of it all.

"Something funny?" Maxwell grumbled, hauling himself up with the cigar still between his fingers. It was halfway done with, but Maxwell didn't want to waste it. He continued smoking it in his own carefree manner, while Wilson made his way merrily towards his new friend. "You know, I haven't had a friend in a long time.."

"Who said we were friends?"

Wilson scowled at that comment, but Maxwell burst out laughing when he saw Wilson's reaction. "I'm joking! I'm joking. I quite enjoy having a friend. I haven't had a true one in a long time.

"A true friend?" Wilson asked.

Maxwell hesitated for a moment, leaning back against the side. "Yeah, I guess. Most of the people that were my friends before ditched me later. Fucking sucked being alone, but I got used to it." He was sucking his cigar dangerously close to his fingers, turning the tip cherry red. When he puffed out, a generously large amount of smoke blew into the cold night air. Wilson frowned at the sight, becoming slightly concerned.

"Shit. Well, that's it for this cigar." He swiftly walked past Wilson and dropped the last of his cigar into his empty glass. "Don't need to ruin the ocean just because I'm lazy, right? Not just gonna feed it to the fishes," he muttered.

Wilson furrowed his brows and walked behind Max, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey," he bit his lip, collecting in his head what he should say, "are you alright?"

Maxwell sighed with defeat, obviously feeling upset now. He leaned forward, and began to run his fingers through his hair. "Eh, sometimes I just get a bit down, ya know? You think about where you're going, what you've done. This is what I am proud of, being in charge of all of this. But not much opportunity for an actual talk comes my way. Hell, the closest I've come to really speaking about anything is now."

He sank down to the floor, and Wilson followed.

Now feeling sorrowful for his friend, Wilson bit his lip and tried to think of how to comfort him. He was not very good at such things, but he would try if it was needed. Right now, it was. "If it makes you feel any better," Wilson said, holding his chin as he turned his head slightly in thought, "I didn't have anyone to talk to for a long time either. I was the lone kid on the block. Not the freak, but the others just didn't do the right thing, which made me stay indoors and away from them in fear and loathing."

Wilson paused before continuing. "They would come to my house and shout some taunts from outside, but it never affected me much. The result was pale skin and no friends. I wasn't willing to take the chance of getting my ass kicked just because I wanted someone close. The point I was going to make: you're the only friend I've had in years. I have only been to 3 parties in my entire life, including this one."

"You're kidding," said Maxwell, a lazy grin forming from the corners of his mouth. "Only 3? I enjoy them, but as a child I went to many more than I do now. Not many of my friends parties, but what can you do when your parents have over 30 men and women over? Hiding wasn't an option, because when my parents did find me, I was dragged out with shame instead of pride. I stopped hiding after a while."

They both shared a laugh at that. Maxwell turned to Wilson, which lightened the mood because of the direct contact. The railing cast a shadow over them, and hid them well. It wasn't your normal metal railing with space between the bars, but rather a wall.

"This is fun." Wilson flashed a smile to Maxwell. "I have enjoyed speaking with you. You are a clever man."

"That is not something I hear often," Maxwell admitted. He grinned back at Wilson in thanks, flattered.

"Surely you have. Your use of expressions shows your personality. To me, you are quite the catch. Your woman must be proud to have you."

Maxwell scoffed. "Girlfriend? Yeah, right. Never have had one, besides one or two, but that's another story."

Now that made Wilson's eyes pop. "What? You must be joking." "Nope," Maxwell said in a matter-of-fact manner.

But geez, Wilson, you're talking about me being clever? Pal, you make the king's jive! You're a genius!" He wrapped an arm around Wilson's neck and held on tight, teasing him.

Wilson disagreed. "Ah, I am far from a genius.."

"Ha! Wilson, I have known you for a very short amount of time, and you have already proven yourself to be one. Precisely why I am asking you this," he leaned in closer to Wilson, a mischievous grin on his face as he glanced around for any others. Wilson's face began to heat up, and in shame he scolded himself. In barely a whisper, Maxwell asked: "Would you join the Family for a case tomorrow? Wilson, we could really use you. With your brains and my men, we would be unstoppable."

Wilson pursed his lips, twisting his head to look behind himself. "I don't know. Wow, I know you for just a day and you're already wanting a good friend for some missions? With all due respect, I hope you know this is not Clue."

"This case is important, and we need someone with the right brains out there to help. Sure, we have 1 or 2 guys, but you're the entire package. Wilson," he grabbed Wilson's shoulders in a firm grip, "this is your time to shine."

Wilson thought about it for a moment. There would surely be guns, gunfights, more of all of the good stuff. Would he be sure to possibly risk his life for adventure, and a chance to finally do something worthwhile?

He remembered his boss and how he treated him no better than trash. He wrote article after article for that magazine, but the work was all worthless. Wilson loved to write and study, but what kind of life was he living? That was a question he often asked himself.

"Wilson, are you with me?"

Wilson shut his eyes tightly before opening them again. Maxwell's voice ran through his ears again. "Are you in?"

A pause, before a nod. "I'll do it. But Maxwell, promise me I won't get hurt. A scrap or two is fine, but I don't need to die tomorrow. I have to do what I love, just like you."

"Of course. Just sit back and do what you need to do. We just have to be sure the heat isn't in our area when we're working, but other than that you're out of possibly direct danger."

Hauling himself up, Maxwell held out a hand for Wilson to grab onto. Wilson placed his hand into Maxwell's, while Maxwell yanked him up with ease. He stared at Wilson for a moment, before he spun around at the sound of a glass breaking. "I should head inside and get that under control. You can stay out here longer, but you're welcome to join us now if you want."

"Ah, it's fine. I need the fresh air. You go back inside, and I'll be there in a jiffy." A small smile was on his face to show it was alright.

Maxwell hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "Alright. See you in a few," he chirped and disappeared into the ship.

Wilson's smile turned into a frown once he was sure Maxwell was gone. He shuffled over to the side again, watching the lights go by slowly. It was peaceful, but his mind was uneasy.

Not because of tomorrow's plan, but because of who he would be with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 50's Slang Dictionary:
> 
> Shoot- ask
> 
> You make the king's jive - your English is good  
> -  
> sorry this chapter is so short! it was rushed. again, i apologize. i would also like to mention how i changed their Mob name to the Carter crime organization, because i completely forgot that "Carter crime organization" would make more sense


	5. Grim and Gambling Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the streets of New York, there are a few thing the Mafia does best.  
> Gambling is one of them.

Wilson woke from his sleep with faint memory of the night before. He could remember everything from arriving to standing on the deck, but everything after was a blur. He must have gone back inside to be with the others.

Oh, no. He had to meet with the Mob today, for the mission.

What was he going to do?

He turned over to look at his clock, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he read the time, 11:14 AM. Wilson was quick to jump out of bed and onto his hardwood floor, ready to start the day late. He quickly regretted getting up so fast, for his head was now spinning like a whirlpool. Wilson still continued his walk towards the kitchen to fix up something to eat.

Wilson opened the fridge door and gently pulled out three eggs, then sat them on the counter to pull a bowl from the cabinet. When he retrieved the bowl, he set it beside the eggs to make it easy. One by one, he picked up an egg and cracked it on the rim, then pulled the shell apart to let the yolk and all fall into the bowl. Wilson was pleased with how quickly he could make eggs, and make them decent, at least. Not only did they taste fine, they were a good source of nutrition.

He placed the eggs on a pan and waited patiently for them to he finished. He slid them onto a clean white plate, and off he went with his food into his living space. He set himself down in a chair and gazed outside, admiring the sun gleaming through the thin clouds outside. Wilson had made a habit out of this, but he loved it.

His thoughts began to trail off, as the often did. Books and ink began to fill his mind, sending a wave of excitement through his veins. Wilson put his plate on the wooden table in front of him, leaned back, then continued to think.

He started off with organizing what he discussed with Maxwell the night before. Wilson remembered talk of helping the Family with a case. What case exactly? Now, he did recall Maxwell saying something about it being a case with gambling, then..

Well, the rest was a blur, but what else could he recall aside from that?

Another memory flashed into his mind. In barely a whisper, Wilson told himself that Maxwell had told him to be out the door by 9:30 PM. At his apartment, Maxwell's car would be waiting for him by the sidewalk. Wilson didn't exactly know where they were going, but maybe it was for the best.

Wilson looked up to check the time, which was only 11:47 AM, thankfully. This left him plenty of time to get prepared for the night. With all of this free time, there was only one logical thing to do.

Wilson picked up his plate and walked back into the kitchen, placing it in the sink and walking straight by it to his study. A smile was on his face as he grabbed a thick book covered in dust off of a shelf. Then he sat himself down into his leather seat, opened his book, and began to read.

-

The sound of a honking car horn woke Wilson from his sleep this time. He had fallen asleep on his desk while reading, yet had gotten all of the information he so desired. Pushing the book out of his mind, Wilson quickly began to panic at the realization that he had to leave _right then,_ and that this was a mafia Boss he was dealing with.

Wilson spotted old leather jacket from the corner of his eye and rushed over to grab it before taking off. The horn was now honking for longer periods of time, making him more anxious than before. Luckily, he had thought to put his shoes on just incase this happened. This had, in fact, happened before, though it wasn't as serious and did not include much panic and rush.

Wilson made it to the door at last and turned the knob to leave. He did one last thing to make it lock when he shut it again, before slamming the door open and shut. He blindly rushed to the car and nearly slammed his forehead into the glass. Wilson grabbed onto the door handle and yanked it, pulling it open. He slid into the seat, shut the door, then listened as the driver slammed on it.

When Wilson was finished catching his breath, he looked over to Maxwell with a sheepish grin on his face. Maxwell stared blankly at him for a moment, then grabbed the same handle to the window that blocked out their voices from the driver. He pushed it all the way to the other side of the car, and then grabbed a stick connected to velvet curtain. Maxwell pulled that to the other side as well, and then looked back at Wilson.

"Wilson," he said, pressing his fingers to his temple, "what on earth took you so long?" His tone was not harsh, so the tingling in Wilson's body was beginning to fade.

"I'm sorry. I-I fell asleep while reading in my study, and I just lost track of time. Well, obviously, I can't see time in my dreams can I?" Wilson chuckled softly, but his laughter faded out when he saw Maxwell cock an eyebrow. "Look, Maxwell, I really am sorry.. If we're late, it's my fault, and you can forget about me-"

Maxwell cut him off. "Look, calm down. I was just curious, that's all." Wilson watched as Maxwell's eyes scanned his outfit, not moving an inch. "I like your jacket. It suits you."

Wilson smiled with his face tilted into the collar of the leather jacket. "Thanks."

There was a slightly awkward silence until Wilson spoke again. "If you don't mind me asking, when will we arrive at our, er, destination?"

"20 minutes, maybe 15," Maxwell responded, shrugging. "Before we get there, I need to tell you a few things. First, you need to stay close to me, at all times. No wandering off. Where we're going, there are some bad people, and some are just bad news. Alright, moving along. Second, what was that book you read about?"

"The one I fell asleep on?" Wilson asked, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Let me think. I think it was The Gambling Gangsters of Manhattan? And it was about gambling, what a coincidence, so I would know what's going on tonight."

Maxwell nodded and leaned back slightly. "Good, because we're going to need your help in there."

"What?" Wilson squawked. "I-I've never gambled before. Are you sure you want someone with no experience to be right beside you, betting and whatnot?"

"Positive. Look, your brains kill. With you on our side, we could be unstoppable. Not only could you stun our competitors, you could beat them. Once we arrive and begin betting, you will see how simple it is."

Wilson bit his lip, unsure if it would be as simple for him as Maxwell said. Maxwell saw the look on Wilson's face and furrowed his eyebrows, then sighed. "Wilson, it will be alright. If you want out, I can tell James to sit in the car with you until we finish. Would that be alright?"

"No, no, I'll do it. I just don't know if I will be able to do everything you think I can.."

Maxwell was beginning to feel sympathy for Wilson, oddly enough. In his mind, he scolded himself for feeling any strong emotion of caring towards another, especially as someone with his job. As for now, it could not be helped. Maxwell outstretched his arm and wrapped it around Wilson, bringing the much smaller man close.

"Ah, don't be worried," Maxwell cooed, giving Wilson's shoulder a quick squeeze. "You will do fine, pal. I'm sure of it."

Wilson felt his entire body flush in embarrassment. His face grew hot, and the vehicle seemed to be filled with much less air than before. Being pressed against someone so warm was comforting, but he would not risk showing that. Wilson had never been this close to anyone, outside of his family, his entire life; yet he knew how you could ruin friendships by showing affection for the other.

For him, it would be a worse outcome, because he was not only a man, but one with great power.

"Hehe, yeah.. thanks, but," Wilson said, trying to distract himself, "I don't think of myself a person to do very well my first time of doing things."

"Nobody is perfect. Here, we're almost there. You'll see. Now, move back over before I burn to death in this suit, will ya?" Maxwell was pulling back at his collar, trying to keep it from sticking to his neck with sweat. Wilson looked up, and when he saw Max he rushed to the other side of the car again.

Wilson's car door opened, startling and making him jump. He turned to find James, the driver, hovering over him like a hawk. He moved to the side for Wilson to exit the car, and Wilson did so, rather quickly. Maxwell followed him to the sidewalk soon after.

"James will escort you in," said Maxwell, who then stepped away and let James take over. Wilson tried to object, but most of his argument consisted only of stuttering.

"Wait! W-where are you going?!" Wilson called, while Maxwell continued to walk away and out of sight. "Maxwell!"

Wilson jumped when he felt two large, firm hands grip onto his shoulders. His heart skipped a beat, and he looked up to see James standing over him, breathing like a mad bull. Wilson could only manage a faint chuckle while they made eye contact, something he rather would not have done. Maxwell's guards frightened Wilson, but that was what they were meant to do. At least they were doing their job well.

A sharp breath was taken in by Higgsbury when he was tugged sharply to the right. He instantly recalled that this was the way Maxwell went, which caused him to pick up his feet instead of dragging them, in an attempt to walk along with the much larger man. After a few seconds of walking, they reached a corner, and Wilson was again jerked in a turn. They proceeded down a dark alleyway filled with boxes and torn flyers, then turned again to face an iron door.

Wilson could see that there was a slot cut into the door, though there was another piece of iron that covered it. It was a slightly different color than the door itself, but that made it more interesting.

James raised a fist to the door and knocked. It echoed loudly, but that still made it even more interesting, and Wilson was filled with exhilaration and curiosity as to what was behind such an entrance.

The tiny window guarding the slot pulled to the side, revealing a pair of crystal-blue eyes and thin, yellow eyebrows. When the voice spoke, it carried an accent, one seemingly from France. "The password."

James' voice seemed to make the ground shake as he answered with: "Snake eyes."

The French man nodded. "Very good." He shut the slot door and began undoing the locks, one by one.. The screeching of metal was present each time a bolt turned or twisted. It could make anyone cringe, and possibly drive someone mad if heard for more than a few minutes.

After a moment or two of waiting, the door swung open for Wilson and James to join in with the others. The French man behind the door shut it as soon as they were past, and shut all of the bolts all over again. The noise in the building was enough to block out the noises of the bolts. Music was playing, people were talking, drinking, but most of all, betting. Blackjack and poker tables stood in some parts of the rooms; so did roulette wheels.

Men were smoking in corners, ashtrays near them to put the burning tip out. A few men were smoking at their betting tables, but it was avoided because it was distracting to the betters. Wilson looked around the room, his gaze lingering on some longer than others, while James continued to grip his shoulder and lead him this way and that.

Wilson's eyes soon led to a specific poker table, one closer to him than all the others. From behind, Maxwell could be mistaken as any other gentleman, but when he turned around..

Maxwell felt the presence of something behind him, so he turned his head to the side, just to be sure. His expression changed from one of annoyance to one of satisfaction when a friend caught his eye. "Ah, Wilson!" He turned from the others and made his way over to the other. Wilson peered back at James before he pushed him forward, huffed, and walked away. Maxwell caught Wilson by wrapping his arm around his shoulder like he did in the car.

They strolled over to Maxwell's poker table. Wilson could see that Maxwell was close to winning, but one flaw could cost him his fortune.

"Ah, well if it isn't Wilson."

He looked around at the sound of his voice and found Wix standing with the other men he met at the party. They had been standing in the corner here for a while, until they saw Wilson make his way in.

"Hello, Wix," Wilson grumbled, separating himself from Maxwell to speak with Wix face-to-face. "I'm telling you now, I'm not looking for any trouble."

"Oh really?" "Really," Wilson replied, cracking his fingers in hopes of relieving stress. "Maybe if you weren't such a cube, you would actually be able to get into some."

"Oh, boys," chirped Maxwell, placing a hand on Wilson's shoulder and pulling him back, "a word of advice: don't fight in an illegal gambling club. Especially not with any gangsters around. Looks like you two are some of them, what a surprise!" He let go of Wilson, then stepped forward to Wix.

"I will not let you ruin this, Wix. Go back over there, and keep your mouth shut. Understood?"

Wix scowled at Maxwell for his statement, but he nodded and led his group somewhere else.

"Alright Wilson, here's the deal," Maxwell commenced, leading him back to a table of a few irritated looking men. "Anytime you see a spot I can take, point it out. Any chance I get to slap down some cards is something you need to tell me. We are a team here."

"I understand," Wilson replied, turning to see the 6 men on the opposite side, along with the cards and chips before him. "Let us begin."

"Wait, wait, wait," one man said, waving his hands and halting the men alongside him. "Are you serious? Monsieur, what are you doing playing with a kid over here? He probably doesn't even know what he's doing, right boy?"

Wilson began to seethe with anger, now clenching his fists and gritting his teeth like he had done seeing Wix for the first time. Such a gentleman was not ready to have his reputation soiled from the words of a mafioso. "I will have you know that I was the top in my graduating class, and I am not some child that can be lead around and fooled with a stick of candy. I came here to help a man win, and that is what I will do. I did not come to be taunted by anyone of your foolishness. If I didn't know what I was doing, I wouldn't be here, and I have enough brains to know that." His venting left his face a bright shade of red on his cheeks, but his glower showed the frustration and anger swirling in his mind.

The French men seemed indifferent towards Wilson's speech, and said nothing in response. They merely grabbed what cards were theres, then turned to Maxwell, the leader of the pack smoking a cigarette. Meanwhile, Maxwell was smoking a cigar.

"You've got some assistant there," the leader remarked. He tilted his chin up to look down at Wilson, happily pulling on his smoke. When the men decided to continue playing their game, Wilson looked over at his own leader, who was reading the cards over and casting eyeballs at the playing chips.

Rolling up his sleeves, Wilson set the heel of his hand on the edge of the table. He focused his mind, thinking of any possible thing Maxwell could do to win. He may not have played before, but the research he had done was close enough to doing the actual thing.

"Make your move."

-

"No fucking way you have a royal flush," a French man said in disbelief. "There is no way."

"There was a chance, and that's all we needed," Wilson stated, a proud tone set in his voice. Maxwell was standing beside him, a smug look on his face as he basked in the glory of winning against yet another gambler. This time he won $50.00 exactly, having played against a boastful gambler with fine skill in the game. Unfortunately, his skill was not enough to beat the pair.

"I believe these are ours," Maxwell said, pulling in the correct amount of chips from the loser's pile into his own. "Alright, anyone else want to challenge me, a mere man with a hand for gambling, and my partner, Wilson, a genius among men?"

"I will."

The pair turned at the sound of something so cheerful, confused as to who spoke up to challenge them. Their eyes soon caught a thin man walking towards the table, and they graciously assumed that that was the man offering a bet. His polished shoes clacked on the floor, synced with his black cane, and his white suit shined with cleanliness. Some conversations stopped and some games were paused as they watched the man glide across the black floor.

"You boys seem rowdy tonight." He had reached the table now, and was standing before Maxwell and Wilson as if he was king. "Here, I have a nice little bet for you two. Let's say-" he whipped out a wad of cash, held together with a brown rubberband, "$100? If I lose, you can get all of this," he said, waving around the cash mockingly, "but if I win, you have to give me $20. Waddaya say?"

The team was hesitant to say anything at first. Wilson looked at Maxwell, and Maxwell looked at Wilson. Wilson shrugged and turned to face the newcomer, while Maxwell thought for a minute before doing the same.

"Fine," Maxwell said, "but first you need to tell us your name, if that's alright with you."

"William, my good gentlemen. Now," he clapped his hands together, emphasizing his sentence, "let's get playing!"

The Dealer arrived at the table when all of the participating men took their spots. He dealt the cards, took their bets, got the chips, and proceeded to watch their actions. Wilson stood beside Maxwell, while William stood alone, his only friends being his 5 cards.

One man here was gambling out of the strange desire to, while the other made a living off of such activities.

Yet both men were too addicted to stop.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 50's Slang Dictionary:
> 
> Bad news- depressing person/people
> 
> Kill- really impress
> 
> Cube- a bland person  
> -  
> 100 hits? uhh thank you?? what the hell how did i even manage to get one????


	6. And Away We Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a good amount of time spent at the gambling club, a slight mishap sends the Godfather and Scientist booking it out the door. Not only that, but slamming on gas pedals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pardon any grammar or spelling mistakes i am extremely sleep deprived right now

"Shit, where the hell is James?!" Maxwell shouted to himself, searching around his car and the street for only a second or two. "Ah, fuck it; he wanted to stay in there and have a few drinks? Fucking fine. Get in, Wilson. It's time to ditch this joint."

_\- Earlier -_

William was infuriated with the fact that Maxwell was, undeniably, doing much better at him in this game. He was the top gambler of his city, one who never lost; but that was to be proven false soon enough.

The game went on for a while longer. It would get closer to one better, then drift away. It would do the same for the other, which made this match more frustrated.

With Wilson at his side, Maxwell was nearly unstoppable, but since William was a great player worth two others, it made the game seem even. The long time of sitting and dealing cards made it as if this would last forever.

Until Maxwell slapped down a royal flush against a four of a kind.

With the mother of all hands, Maxwell had won the $100 from William, and been able to keep his own $20. Satisfied with his success, Maxwell trudged to Wilson and slapped his back, praising him for his knowledge as he held his bundle of cash. The Dealer had traded the chips in the second he knew the game was finished, so he and everyone else could go home.

Unfortunately, William had other plans.

With few people still at the illegal club, and their minds focused on other things besides the three of them, William found it wouldn't be so bad to just go ahead and get his money back. No trouble, besides the fact a clean-up crew would he needed.  
"I don't think so, Maxwell. I'm the best player in all of New York, and I never lose. At least," he paused, pulling a Smith & Wesson Model 36 from his pants pocket, "not without getting my money."

Maxwell was quick to process the situation, but had little reaction to it. The only thing he did was stand up straight, and grab Wilson by the arm. He grinned with pleasure to William, who was now pointing the gun towards Maxwell's forehead.

"William, listen. Let's be rational; hold on just a minute-"

**BANG.**

But no bullet struck skin.

Maxwell had quickly summoned a shadow to shield the two of them. His hand shot up, pulling a black, thin mass from the ground. Clutched between his fingers was a black book, with a red 'M' in the center, that he held behind their barrier. As the bullet struck the shadow hand, it burst into 1,000s of pieces. The sight was like artwork in action, but getting struck by one of the stray remnants could hurt you as much as the bullet itself. He continued to hold up the shadow with one arm, which was becoming a bit cramped at the time being with his hand, and grabbed Wilson with the other. "I think it's time we head off."

The shadow-hand slowly turned into a black whisp. It began to engulf the two men as it twisted and spun like a hurricane. Meanwhile, William was standing to the side, watching the entire scene unfold before his eyes. His pistol lowered slightly as he watched, wide-eyed.

The shadow began spinning at a rapid rate, but Maxwell was still controlling it as before. His hand was raised like he was preparing to play piano. When he had the shadow spinning how he wanted, his hand crashed downward, the smoke took them to their desired destination, and disappeared.

And now we are back to what is happening currently.

"Shit, where the hell is James?!" Maxwell shouted to himself, searching around his car and the street for only a second or two. "Ah, fuck it; he wanted to stay in there and have a few drinks? Fucking fine. Get in, Wilson. It's time to ditch this joint."

Maxwell jerked open his car door and slide into the seat. Wilson soon did the same on the passenger side, slamming the door when he was in. Maxwell shut his own door as well, then turned the key. The vehicle roared with life, a good sign, and Maxwell slammed on the gas pedal. They both jerked forward at the action, so Maxwell took a minute figuring out exactly what to do.

Gunshots fired from behind into the windshield. Thank god it was bullet-proof, or one of them might have been dead.

With the gunfire, Maxwell paused to take out his pistol from under the seat. He handed it to Wilson, who had not been expecting to be a part of this scenario. "What am I supposed to do with this?!"

"What do you think? Shoot at that guy," Maxwell replied, now slowly figuring out how to work this type of car.

Wilson cranked down the window and stuck his head out from the car. Behind them was, indeed, William; what a stubborn gambler. He was trying to catch the car before they sped off, but he was not much of a runner. Wilson took the gun from his lap and aimed it towards their pursuer. When he pulled the stubborn trigger, it fired him back and the bullet forward.

Maxwell glanced over once he heard the bullet fire to find Wilson rubbing his head, wincing in pain. "Are you alright? Did you get him?" he asked, moving his head back and forth to look at Wilson and the road.

"I'm fine, and yes, I think I got him," Wilson replied, holding the gun up to examine it. He placed it back in his lap to look out the window and found the French man gone. Had he run away after being shot, or had he not been shot at all? Wilson squinted his eyes to see better, not seeing anything for the first moment, until a black object came swerving form a corner.

"You're _fucking_ kidding me," Wilson murmured, just loud enough for Maxwell to hear. "What?" Maxwell questioned, a tone of irritation in his voice. "Tell me what is going on."

"I don't know if I shot him, but we have another car on our tail. Maxwell, I don't think this _just_ has to do with our gambling." Wilson pulled back inside as a bullet shot past him with a bang. "Looks like the tag says Manhattan, but shorter. Are they familiar to you?"

Maxwell groaned, and his grip tightened on the wheel. "We have had bad business, but I didn't expect me to come after them. Hell, I didn't expect that man to be a part of their group. Try and shoot at them for now, but I have to do the only thing we can to get away. You better get ready to unbuckle your seatbelt."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Wilson was cut short when another bullet shot from the other car into solid metal. The bullet was, again, stopped. "Maxwell, I need to know what we are doing."

Maxwell did not answer to Wilson's question, merely speeding up and darting through the empty streets. This part of town was small, and almost deserted. It was safe to say that you could go at about any speed you wanted. He grabbed the gear shift and moved it around, then pressed slightly harder down on the gas pedal.

Maxwell's car shot forward, moving away from the other and disappearing into the darkness. Though they had an advantage of being farther ahead, they were still being pursued by the men of the Manhattan mob. Wilson fumbled with his gun again and stuck his head out the window, aiming carefully and shooting when the time was right. He pulled his head back in after taking a few shots, then rolled up the window.

"Hold onto something, Wilson," Maxwell shouted over the roaring engine. There was an eerie pause filled with anticipation, while Wilson grabbed onto the back of his seat, having already tossed away his gun into the floorboard. He assumed this was the best way to avoid injury if they did hit something. His stomach curled at the thought of such a terrible death, and so soon.

Maxwell turned the wheel hard to the left, and sent them turning down a small street. Wilson was thrown off-guard at the sudden jerk, but even more so when they turned into a dark alleyway, the back going in first, instead of proceeding forward. Maxwell reached for the key and turned it back, turning the car off and plunging them into darkness.

The men both held their breath while they watched William's vehicle drive past their own. In the light of old street lights, Wilson could see his men scanning the distance. They drove by slowly, but eventually headed by and out of sight. Maxwell and Wilson breathed out simultaneously with relief. A collective silence filled the car as they both collected themselves. Then it was disrupted by Wilson's laughter, which slowly grew louder, like a hyena bolting towards you.

"What a fucking ride!" He threw his arms into the air and tossed himself back. The chair rocked slightly, but Wilson was not in it for much longer. He sat up, opened his door, and stepped outside into the chilly night. Maxwell watched in slight confusion.

Wilson wandered over to the corner, peering from the alleyway to check if William had gone for good. His assumptions were correct, for they had already appeared to have left the area. He continued looking around anyway, spotting a dock after his eyes had adjusted. His head turned to smile at Maxwell as he motioned for him to follow, then walked off.

Maxwell opened his own door and ran after his partner, who was now standing on the edge of the pier. "Wilson, what _are_ you doing?" He called, running after him and stopping only when his feet touched the dock.

Wilson sighed while he took in the sights of the city. Maxwell stood behind him, trying to process what the other was doing. Wilson spoke. "I have never had a thrill like that. Must be great to have that all the time. Wouldn't you know?" Wilson questioned, turning to Maxwell, who was standing a bit farther behind him.

"Depends on how high the chance is that you're gonna die, but I guess so. Don'f flip your lid though." Maxwell laughed softly at Wilson's reaction toward nearly getting shot. "Sure, it's a large charge for newcomers, but I can get boring after a while."

"Are you kidding? It's almost impossible not to get pumped, even if it's just a tad bit. Probably because this has been the most exciting day," Wilson paused, threw his arms in the air and stuck his chin up, "of my life!"

Maxwell's eyes went wide as he watched Wilson clumsily fall back into the water. He scrambled to the edge, trying to search for the scientist that had submerged into the water. He got on his chest and leaned his head over the side, while his hands clutched onto the rough wood. "Wilson?"

After the appearance of a few bubbles, Wilson popped out of the water, surprising Maxwell enough to make him cover his eyes in attempt to shield them from the water. This meant he had to let go of his only support, the pier, and he began to lean forward, much to his demise. Before he could manage to catch himself, he tumbled into the water with Wilson. Wilson, thankfully, was far enough away not to be hit by the tall man.

Wilson cackled at the sight of Maxwell quickly tugging himself from the water, dripping wet, yet with his hair still perfectly in form. His face held a look of shock, not anger; lucky for Wilson. "Must be some water in those lungs," Wilson remarked, the words semi-strained while kicked his short legs, keeping him afloat. "After a tumble like that."

"I must agree," Maxwell responded, who was able to touch the sea floor and standing, much to Wilson's envy. "At least it cannot get any worse."

The tiny pitter patter of droplets beating against the waves filled both of their ears, causing them to look up and find a cloud filled with lightning in the distance. It rumbled and snapped in the sky, much to their dismay. Everyone knew a lightning strike to water, with a person in it, would shock the person to a crisp, or kill them in a matter of seconds.

Wilson groaned. "I _cannot_ believe you just said that. Huh, I guess we should be heading out anyway. There's a ladder right behind you, but watch for anything that might be lurking on the handles."

Maxwell nodded in understanding and turned to trudge to the ladder. He nearly did slip, of course, by the slickness of algae, but caught himself before he could fall back. He proceeded up the metal bars, 6 altogether, and grunted when he pulled himself back up onto the planks. He moved back, and seeing that Wilson was struggling to make his way up, held out a large hand to assist him.

Wilson eyed him suspiciously, hesitating for a brief moment, before grabbing the hand and assisting with getting up, while being pulled at the same time. He noted that Maxwell's hands were slick from the water, making the grip hard to keep, but his hands were just the same.

Wilson's feet touched the wood with grace, having finally gotten out of the water. They were both dripping horribly, and _freezing_.

"Alright, I'm not gonna drive right now. I'll just use some magic and make a driver, if that's fine by you," Maxwell said, throwing Wilson a questioning look.

"That's fine by me," Wilson responded, who was fascinated by the fact that the Godfather could actually summon a driver; not call, but create.

"Here we go then," hummed Maxwell, and the book from before was suddenly hovering in his hand. It fell a few seconds after, but it was still remarkably astonishing. He began to chant a phrase, taking his time and patience now, until a portal-like hole came from the ground, and out popped a thing of darkness and coal-black wisps. It resembled Maxwell, but as a silhouette with mass.

"Amazing.. extraordinary," Wilson murmured, now exploring the figure with a curious eye. "I can't process how you do such things with just a book."

"If you're so drowned by this book, and so impressed by your science, maybe I could give you a few ingredients and formulas for some mixtures. Speaking of drowned, in 'non-slang' terms, it's pouring out here. I'm heading to the car." Maxwell shut his book and started his walk to the vehicle, while Wilson stared with a gaping jaw at a brick wall, trying to process what Maxwell offered. He eventually regained himself and looked back over to Maxwell, his shadow puppet trailing behind him.

Wilson ran after Maxwell, his excitement screaming in his mind. He struggled to prevent himself from slipping, and in frantic attempt not to, he waved his arms around like windmills. When he caught up to him, he was huffing softly. "You really.. mean that?"

"I think so. Unless, you don't want them-"  
"No! I would like that m-more than anything, sir." Wilson grinned politely. "It would be very helpful to my work."

Maxwell flashed Wilson a skeptical look, then shrugged it off. "We will discuss it in the car, then." His puppet moved to the driver's seat and popped open the door, sliding in obediently and turning the car key. Maxwell went around to the other side, then slid in, Wilson following soon after.

Maxwell's clone took off the instant Wilson's door shut. This took Wilson by surprise, but he was quick to regain himself. The thoughts from everything that happened the same night flooded his mind, and out of all of it stood Wix and his group. "Maxwell," his voice quivered, "what ever happened to the rest of your men there? Did you ever get in contact with Wix with your.. wizardry?"

Maxwell thought for a moment. "Actually, no. I will now, thank you for reminding me. " He bowed his head and took out his book of magic, flipping to a yellowed page. “If they will answer the call, then we will be lucky. If they don’t, meh, I’ll get them later.” He began reading the strange text off the old page. He shut his eyes soon after, yet his book remained open on his lap. He continued to mumble his chants, thinking of who or what he wanted to see, while a dark ball of smoke formed between them. It was whirling slowly in the beginning, but soon started to whirl with great speed. Soon enough, it had reached breaking point, and it burst open to reveal Wix, Wolfgang, Wes, and Woodie, all lined stiff and straight. 

"Evening, men," Maxwell said louder than usual. Wes was the first one to speak. "Hello, Maxwell. Has something come up?" He asked, rubbing his hands together. Wilson took note that their figures were made of black, fire-looking.. well, fire; their eyes were replaced by white orbs, along with their mouths when open.

"I just needed to see if you were actually still alive. What a surprise," Maxwell chuckled. Wix scowled slightly in response. "Hm, yes. Anyway, we should go. We have other things to.. discuss," Wix said, quickly dismissing their conversation.

Maxwell hummed. "Is something wrong, Wix?"

"No! No, no. We're just.. tired, from tonight." He waved his hands in protest. "Considering we, and you, almost died, you know?"

"Mhm," Maxwell hummed again, a small smile on his lips. "sure. Well, I best be going, since you're busy and.. alright."

"Alright. Well, bye then!" Wix rushed his final statement and swished his hands so the screen disappeared. Maxwell stared at the swirling smoke, still grinning with delight. "I don't know what they're up to," he shifted, "but it's strange. Fuck them anyway, I have my own business."

Their attention went to the car as it jerked to a stop, the tired skidding and the rain pitter-pattering against the roof, hard. Wilson clicked his tongue. "It's pouring out there."

"I would summon a shadow to keep us covered, but using the Codex Umbra could drain me if I use it again." "Codex Umbra? An interesting name," Wilson said with fascination. Maxwell nodded in agreement.

An awkward silence filled the car, broken by the strike of lightning scaring them both. The shadow puppet continued to stay eerily still, however.

"I, er," Wilson stuttered, twiddling his thumbs in a nervous habit. "I should go."

"I will join you to the door, if that's fine," offered Maxwell.

"I have no problem with it." Wilson shrugged. There was a pause before his door clicked open, and he stepped out onto the wet pavement. More thunder rumbled in the distance, but it was faint enough to be no bother to the scientist. Wilson went around the car to his door, Maxwell approaching him as he treaded by. They both walked to his apartment door, and Wilson began to fumble for his keys while climbing the stairs. When the slipped into his grasp, he pulled them out of his pocket, stuck the right key into the door, and twisted. The apartment unlocked with a faint 'click!', allowing Wilson to turn the doorknob and step in with Maxwell by his side. They were each thankful to be out of the rain, because they were soaked enough already from the incident earlier.

"So," Wilson started, shutting the door to shield them from the harsh winds and cold rain. He turned to face Maxwell after turning back the lock, hands moving to run his thumbs over the smooth skin; another nervous habit. "about those formulas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 50's Slang Dictionary: 
> 
> Don't flip your lid- don't get too excited
> 
> Large charge- something that is exciting
> 
> Drowned/drowning- baffled  
> -  
> don't worry they're still gay and it will show next time


	7. It Was a Long Car Ride

"So, about those formulas..”

Maxwell had already whipped out his book, ready to share his knowledge with the scientists, and Wilson happily led him to his study. There they stayed for a good 10 minutes until Wilson realized Maxwell was still soaking wet.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I completely forgot to get us new clothes. S-stay here, I will get something dry for you to change into." Wilson hurriedly went to fetch the gentlemen a dry outfit to hold him over. The only thing he could find to fit Maxwell was an oversized shirt, and for himself he got the same with some shorts, because that was his usual night attire.

When he stepped out of his room and into the dimly-lit living space, he found there was no water dripping from Maxwell's sleeves anymore, nor anywhere at all. In his hands was the Codex Umbra, freshly used to dry him off.

"I, uh, I got some clothes for you. I can see you dried yourself off though." Wilson set the shirt and shorts down on the sofa, already changed into his own nightwear.

"Oh, I was just getting ready to head out," Maxwell said, tucking away the Codex Umbra into his jacket. It somehow fit with no evidence that it was there.

"What? In this weather?" Wilson shook his head. "It's too dangerous. Stay here, you can sleep on the couch and head out at dawn. If you want."

Maxwell turned to face Wilson, his body heating up with flattery. "You mean that? I don't know.. If any of the other crime organizations found out-"  
"I do, really. Stay the night. This weather is too harsh for you to drive safely. And don't worry, nobody will know anything."

Maxwell nodded, pressing his fingers together with his gloves still on. "I will stay then. Thank you for your offer, Wilson." His shoes clicked on the floor as he walked over to Wilson, who was standing by the entrance to his room, watching him. "A man such as yourself should have more recognition. You agree, yes?"

Wilson laughed softly, embarrassed at the possible compliment. "I just wish my abilities wouldn't go to.. waste," he paused, seeing Maxwell coming closer, he bit the inside of his cheek, careful not to draw blood. "I am no genius among men. I mean very little to others, in fact. One of the harsh truths about me."

Maxwell was a few inches, maybe a foot, away from Wilson, who was picking at his fingernails. Such a bad habit, and something done so continuously. Wilson knew it, but this was the only form of therapy he had in nerve-wracking situations.

Why was this nerve-wracking? Maxwell was just a friend, someone he could rely on. But how many friends did he have? Other than him, none, which was a bit pathetic for someone his age. Maxwell was bound to have made some connections with others, surely? He was such a big person, physically and figuratively. He had grown to an astonishing height, and was able to loom over the rather short Wilson. His thoughts began to travel to such an image, his heart slamming in his chest. It hurt, painfully so.

"Shit,” Wilson whispered, the urge to make physical contact barely being restrained. Maxwell was looking over him now, just as he had pictured, and thinking of it again sent a sharp pain in his chest. "I'm sorry.." Wilson murmured, trying to make a break for it before he could turn beet red. A hand touched his shoulder, swiftly and with emotion, before pulling him back. Wilson did not fight; he did not want to.

  
“Wilson? Is something the matter?” Maxwell quietly asked, concern filling his voice slightly.

Wilson hesitated. He was ashamed that didn’t know the answer to such a simple question, and he squeezed his eyes shut in misery. He chewed on his lip hard enough, it began to bleed. He could taste the iron as it flooded his mouth. Wilson’s brows furrowed as he raised his hand to his bottom lip. When he pulled it back, the red was staining his fingertips. His eyes darted up to Maxwell’s. They were filled with something Wilson couldn’t detect. “Well, I’m bleeding. I guess I’m okay though.”

“Are you kidding? You’re bleeding. What can I do for you? Ah, it’s running. Here,” he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and reached to wipe away the trail of blood on Wilson’s face, “it will stain your clothes terribly, you know.” His lips were slightly parted while he wiped the blood away. Wilson could only gaze wide-eyed and dumbfounded.

“Thank you,” Wilson said with a bow of his head. He blinked slowly and gazed back up. He took note that it was throbbing, and it may interfere with how he slept, if he slept at all. He glided his fingers over the wound while Maxwell watched. He could sense the other was about to speak, and he was right. “I can fix it, if you’ll let me?”

Wilson paused, then nodded again. Maxwell moved Wilson’s hand and brushed his fingers over the others bottom lip. Wilson drew in a sharp breath but said nothing. He felt a tingling sensation travel through it with the fingers over it before all the pain and tingling had disappeared. Wilson found his face was uncomfortably hot, flushed from embarrassment, and he hoped that was all.

Maxwell had his eyes on him, but Wilson did not want eye-contact. He wanted to bury his brain 6 feet under, never to be seen and never to be tormented again. Strange fingers glided across his face, finding his jaw and tilting his chin up. He noticed his lips were painfully dry, though they were fine now. His heart was beating like mad, and it seemed he would have a heart attack at any moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this overwhelmed. Only in prep school when he finally got that kiss from his longtime crush Madeline did he ever feel like he was so flushed. He could feel gentle breathing on his lips, not see, because he had shut his eyes when his lip was healed. What strange, new emotion was this? Passion. Passion always made him emotional. Yet, the question was, where did the passion originate from? It hurt. Oh, God, it hurt.

Why did they drink so much alcohol?

"Say," Maxwell murmured, his voice strained with what could be worry, or want, "you don't look so good."

It was a light kiss, with one partner unfamiliar to the strange act. Wilson's lips seemed to vibrate with sensation and uncertainty, while Maxwell's were controlled and steady. He was leaning down slightly, doing the best he could to reach the shorter man. They stood still for a few moments, absorbing everything around them, everything between them. It was like magic, and how ironic that Maxwell was a greatly talented magician.

Once they knew the other was not going to part, the kiss began to grow, like a flower in spring. Maxwell pressed on harder than seconds before. Wilson welcomed it, eagerly, greedily. He felt his face, his chest, arms, legs, everything, grow hotter with the rush of fresh blood.

Maxwell huffed from his nose, moving his head different ways to experiment the wide variety of angles involved with kissing. Wilson did the best he could, following along with what he thought would work best. He had done a paper on the effects of kissing, in his last year of high school; he had still never done such a thing before and had to, pathetically, read books about in the library. He remembered writing, word for word: "The feeling is said to be sensational, one truly representing how you feel in a matter of seconds." Wilson did not know this to be quite true until now.

Wilson took a quick breath to let himself continue. His hands were raised up beside his head, as he was unsure what exactly to do with them. He was filled with another emotion, gratitude, as Maxwell's hand gently wrapped around Wilson's rather slim wrist. Wilson noticed a deep feeling in his gut, one of longing, as he continued to kiss his.. friend?

"Maxwell," said Wilson, his voice hoarse. He twisted his head to speak as clear as he could, while he moved his hands to press Maxwell away, but only slightly. "Maxwell, you have to hold on a moment."

Maxwell hummed in response, not bothering to move away and rather just staying with his lips to the side of Wilson's own. "Hm? What is it?"

Wilson hesitated for a second or two, still collecting his thoughts. "Have you ever.. done this before?"

Maxwell breathed out gently, his hands gliding along Wilson's shoulders. “Kissed someone?”

Wilson flushed a deeper shade of red, if at all possible. “No. I mean, kind of. Have you ever.. kissed another man like this? It’s something obviously frowned upon.”

Maxwell glanced up thoughtfully for a second. “I’ve kissed a good few. However, you’re the one with me right now, so it’s appropriate to not speak of the others we’ve done this with.”

Wilson nodded, dismissing his question and allowing Maxwell to continue. He started pecking kisses to the side of his mouth, then made his way to the jawline. Wilson shuddered at the touch, consumed by the feeling of it all. He bit his lip in attempt to restrain himself, and it helped well enough. He felt the need to tug at the lapels on Maxwell's coat, bringing him into another oh-so-satisfying kiss. His stomach dropped when he felt his body lean back slightly and began to shuffle back, hitting the cheap apartment wall. He groaned softly, and Maxwell proceeded to suck and breathe on Wilson's neck, now pinning him against the wall. His firm hands made sure Wilson's delicate hands were not battered or bruised.

"Max," breathed Wilson heavily, "I can't stay awake much longer for this. We need to -- head to bed."

Maxwell heard his request, and relaxed his grip. He pulled his head back to meet Wilson's gaze, which he could tell he was tired from. "Alright," he whispered, nodding with understanding. Moving back to give Wilson his space, he gestured to the side. "I will be waiting for you on the couch, or the kitchen, in the morning."

Wilson scoffed. "You don't really think I'm going to let you sleep on the couch, do you?" He stretched his arms out and grabbed the lapels on Maxwell's coat again. "Come on, then," he said, trying to seem reluctant by talking as if he was irritated; in reality he wanted someone to stay with. Nights got lonely, even with his books.

And so, Wilson led them away to his bedroom, and tangled together they slept. Peace had reached them, at least for the night.

-

Both were out the door by 9:15 AM.

Maxwell had planned on taking them to see Wix, eager to discover what trick he was trying to pull or if Maxwell could assist. Wilson would accompany him to see what was happening, but his stomach continuously felt a jolt, which distracted him greatly. The sight of Maxwell after such an.. adventurous night, may have been what was twisting his insides.

Those thoughts led to thinking, "Had Maxwell forgotten about everything? The fiery kiss, the affectionate touches? Was it all just out of the desperation of love for another? Or was it something that could expand?” His forehead began to dot with sweat at the thought, for he had felt that was so much more than that.

"Maxwell," Wilson said, grabbing Maxwell's arm firmly. After realizing that might have come off as harsh, he began to run his hand up and down the fabric. "I need to ask you about last night."

He could hear a sigh escape Maxwell, and Wilson's expression turned into a frown. He began to search for any emotion on Maxwell's face, but he could find none.

"Get in the car and we'll talk," Maxwell murmured, pausing for a brief moment before opening Wilson's door. Wilson eyed him, stepping in with hesitation again. When he had fit himself comfortably into the seat, Maxwell shut the door firmly, and rounded to the other side. He opened his own door and slid in, shutting his door while he did so. His black, gloved hands reached into his jacket, pulling out the Codex Umbra. Reading the text carefully, he cast a shadow from the book and into the driver's seat. It started the car with the flick of Maxwell's wrist, then began to drive. It was cut from sight when its Master pulled the blocking window shut and covered each with thick shadows. Maxwell carefully slid the book back into his jacket, and turned to face the other gentleman.

Wilson's heart was racing with a bit of fear, and excitement to the unknown. He could only stare back at the other, his eyes only moving slightly back and forth. He would not look away, he would not, though he did have to squint lightly to see Maxwell's eyes through the dimly, lit-by-a-small-lamp space. He could feel his face heat up quickly in the seconds that flew by, and he prayed silently that Maxwell could not notice.

With great speed, Maxwell's hands shot out to grip Wilson's shoulders, Wilson taking a sharp breath in from shock. Before he knew it he was pulled forward to have his lips pressed against the Mob Boss' again. It was such an amazing feeling, and certainly missed. It was much better than what he had experienced before, what little of it he had.

He felt goosebumps crawl up his body, which made him shiver while he attempted to shift slightly closer. Maxwell knew what he was attempting to do, so he put a large hand on Wilson's back to ease him gently near his chest. Wilson sighed and grabbed Maxwell’s arm for support. His eyes, strangely, began welling up with tears. He hadn’t know how much he wanted, no, needed this.

“Wilson,” Maxwell murmured between a quick peck, “I don’t think you understand.. how much I’ve wanted this. In the time we’ve been.. shit, it’s been killing me.”

Wilson pressed his face into the crook of Maxwell’s neck, and Maxwell’s hand moved to hold the back of Wilson’s head. The only sounds that could be heard was their soft breaths and the hum of the car. Maxwell sighed, and shut his eyes as he absorbed the warmth of Wilson.

For the first time in a long time, they felt at peace.

Wilson’s hands were now gripping Maxwell’s shoulders while his face rested on Maxwell’s broad chest. “Maxwell,” Wilson said, “tell me this. Did you ever expect us to end up this way?”

Maxwell pulled slightly back. “What do you mean?”

“Did you ever expect, when you found me, that we would end up like this? In the back of your car, pressed against each other? Did you ever just,” he paused in thought, “think about it?”

“Not until that night at the party, when we sat outside on that boat. It came into my mind as something to be shrugged off, but it grew into something else, eventually. Not until last night did I really want to. We were so close and alone, it was tempting.”

The humming of the car and their breaths could, once again, be the only things heard. Wilson noticed how comfortable the silence was, and he was grateful. That was a level between two people that was difficult to reach.

Maxwell’s fingers soon began to brush the back of Wilson’s neck, just enough to make Wilson shudder. It sent a chill up his spine, but he didn’t complain. He could only sigh, and pray that time would go just a little bit slower.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your patience! I have been busy with my family and stuff for school, but it’s all good.  
> Again, thank you for your patience, and thank you for reading. I love you all so much. I love reading the supportive comments you guys have, and seeing the kudos in my email always makes my heart soar! Also, this IS NOT the last chapter! Sorry if my rambling made it seem that way. I don’t want to freak anyone out.  
> As always, please, if there are any typos, tell me in the comment section! I would really prefer if people told me privately, but anything is alright!


	8. What Lurks In The Shadows

Maxwell and Wilson arrived sooner than expected. Maxwell’s book had been a helpful guiding map, and a fascinating one, at that. Wilson enjoyed looking at the faint holographic map that sprung from the Codex Umbra’s pages when they rode in the vehicle. It was a nice way to fight boredom on the rest of the car ride. Maxwell ran a gloved hand on the back of Wilson’s neck while his head rested on the older man’s shoulder.

To Wilson, their relationship was oddly cryptic. Wilson had yet to discuss what they were at the moment. During their moments of kissing, holding each other tight like one might disappear, the thought that Maxwell might only be using Wilson as a bigger pawn on his board seemed impossible. But Wilson had began to contemplate it. _No,_ Wilson thought, _I can’t be just anothher silly pawn, with the way he’s been treating me these last few days. There’s no way. Right?_ He prayed about it for a few seconds, before his door was opened by a shadowy figure, and he was gestured to move. He complied, and slid out of the car with ease.

The sunlight blinded Wilson for a few moments. When his vision was regained, he looked around to find an abandoned building that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. It was quite a mess, with pipes and old construction material strewn about. Planks of wood made up the building; they looked like they were going to drop away from rot at any moment. Even so, the building is quite large and seemed like it would be useful for private events.

Maxwell soon joined him to the side. Wilson’s forehead was already perspiring, but being around a man who seemed like he was made of heat itself made it worse. He didn’t complain, however. It was not the time to be bothering Maxwell over something as silly as body temperature. Wilson looked over to find Maxwell taking a good look of the place as Wilson had done before. Maxwell was sweating too, yet the Codex Umbra remained clutched to his side. _So serious,_ Wilson said to himself.

“Come on,” Maxwell said, “this place looks suspicious enough already. If Wix is in here, it’s better to bust it now than let it get out of hand.” They both trudged forward as the sun continued to beat down harder by the minute. “I swear, if he thinks he can get away with something, I’ll kill ‘em. I could get away with it too.”

“Maxwell, if he’s planning anything, I know you can bust it quickly. No violence needed.” When they reached the door, Maxwell took out his book and flipped the pages. A rusty lock was attached to two wooden doors. Maxwell recited a spell. Two dark hands touched the lock and shattered it with ease. Maxwell pried open the doors and stepped inside, Wilson following behind him. Caution was in their steps.

The building was dark and cold. It was quiet. Too quiet. They both took a few steps further in and kept the door open for good measure. It was possible they had gotten the wrong location, but that seemed nearly impossible. With Maxwell being such a great magician, it must have been extremely rare for him to make mistakes. Besides, he was just reading basic texts, and he had been doing this for so long, he must have been an expert.

Maxwell opened the Codex Umbra and whispered to himself. A ball of fire rose from the pages.

“Sorry that I didn’t think to bring a flashlight. I didn’t know we would wind up in such a dark building.” Maxwell paused, but kept talking after a few seconds. “Using this spell for a long time usually tires me out,” Maxwell said in a whisper, “but we’re not going in here without being able to see anything.”

Wilson was having a difficult time seeing, even with the light, but his hearing remained sharp. He made sure to catch every minor sound, every breath. Though the only sound he could hear were their shoes shuffling on the smooth, stone floor, he made sure to be careful.

Then he heard sounds that were not their own. Scuffling echoed softly from the nearby walls. Wilson’s heart began to beat hard and fast with worry.  
“Maxwell,” Wilson murmured, grabbing Maxwell’s coat, “I think I hear something.”

Maxwell stopped and turned, his head moving back in forth for any sign of movement. Wilson did the same. The sight of the open doors made his racing heart slow down a bit, and the thought of leaving seemed much more reasonable now. But he wasn’t going to daydream forever. His eyes flicked back to the shadows and ceiling, while his heart rate stared to increase again.

“Do you see anything, Maxwell?”

Maxwell paused for a moment. He took another long look. “No. What about you?”

“No, but..” Wilson listened hard again, and found the sound of faint shuffling mixed in with his breathing. Except, the shuffling wasn’t theirs. They weren’t moving. “I still hear shuffling.”

_BAM!_

The light peering through the doors now ceased to shine. Something, or someone, had closed them. It didn’t take long for them to figure that out.

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to join the party!”

Maxwell and Wilson were pinned back to back now. They were spinning, and ready to pounce. Maxwell still had his Codex Umbra open, while Wilson had his hand placed on the shotgun he kept in his belt. They both knew who it was now, but they had yet to find out what trap he had pulled them into.

“Don’t bother with weapons. We have the advantage here anyway! Total darkness, and the ability to change that in an instant. Really something, isn’t it?” There was a snap of fingers, and then, “Hit it!”

A simple light on the ceiling drew away the shadows in one, little spot. At first, the light revealed nothing, but as Wilson and Maxwell continued to look, they saw a figure walking into the spotlight.

Wilson couldn’t believe how much Wix had changed since he last saw him, which was only nearly a week ago. His orange hair was slicked back, unlike last time when it was a tangled mess. Instead of casual clothing, Wix now had a sharp, black suit with a tie on his neck. His shoes were shiny and pointed instead of falling apart. In his hands, he held an Avtomat Kalashnikova model 1947 assault rifle, or by it’s other name, an AK-47.

“You’re little tricks of pulling rabbits out of hats have gotten rather boring, Maxwell,” Wix said with a nauseating grin. “So I’ve decided to branch off for myself. See where the wind takes me. That is how you got that little book of yours, isn’t it?”

Maxwell’s knuckles were turning white from his hold on the Codex Umbra. Wilson tried to look back at him, but failed.

Wix continued. “Your family is a big competition in the streets, Maxie. With you and your little posse being on top, the groups below you don’t even dare mess with you. So we teamed up a bit, traded some weapons, some supplies. Pretty great, don’t you think? And they’ve _all_ heard the rumors of your magic book, the tales of how you can teleport at will with one word. But I personally think it’s time you stepped down. Let someone else get the spotlight for a while. Surely you agree. It must be tiring, managing the family business and reciting old spells. Can’t you agree with me, boys?”

Maxwell and Wilson took a few small steps back when they heard the fits of laughter from the shadows. Maxwell, out of quiet fear for the both of them, quickly and quietly recited a shielding spell as they heard the dragging of feet and the voices grow closer. The humming of the shield quietly rang in Wilson’s head. It was oddly reassuring. Wilson’s thoughts went back to the gambling night as he saw the faint shield that now hovered in front of them. For a few seconds, he was happy, but he was pulled back into reality rather quickly.

The shield would make Maxwell weaken in a few minutes, and teleporting wasn’t an option like it was at the club. Max was only able to use so much power then because of his adrenaline and the alcohol. Attempting to teleport now would take a lot of power, which was something that Maxwell did not have. From lack of much sleep and his excessive use of magic that day, his energy was too low. If he tried to use the spell, Wilson knew Max wouldn’t be able to complete it. He would faint before he could.

Dark, human figures were still crowding at Wix’s side, so Wilson began to think. _My gun,_ he thought. _I can use that. But compared to Wix’s, I don’t know what the end result would be. He doesn’t have a big group anyway. Maybe 5 men? But they are rather burly._

His thoughts went back to the shield, and the possibilities of using his gun became a better option now. “Maxwell,” Wilson whispered, “would a bullet make it past this shield from our side, but not from theirs?”

Maxwell bit his lip. The light was just a flicker now, and he began to falter. “Yes,” he responded with strain, “but please, if you’re going to shoot, make it quick.”

Wilson nodded. His attention went back to Wix, who had begun to recite a speech. “-my noble army of mob men, much greater than you could even dream of yours to be. And with-“

“Oh, Wix. Your weapons are _obviously_ superior. What are we even fighting for? Exactly, nothing.” He grabbed the gun slowly by its frame, his body turned slightly. “So why don’t we just call it-“ he grabbed the gun from it’s holding place, and pointed it towards the ginger, wanting to make this as sweet and simple as possible, “-a draw?”

Wilson made sure he took only a second to aim. Two lives were at stake here, so he needed to make it snappy. Wix had his gun up quickly after Wilson, but only Wilson’s shot reached its intended target.

Wilson’s bullet entered Wix’s hand, and the man was quick to drop his weapon. Wix roared with pain and fury as his hand spilled fresh blood. His hand began to throb and his eyes fill with tears. He started retreated to the shadows in pain and momentary defeat. Wilson was surprised to see no men go to help him, but maybe Wix had commanded them not to. That was the stubborn man Wilson knew Wix to be. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was true.

Wilson saw their distraction as a golden opportunity. He shot at one of the smaller men in the group but missed and hit the wall. That was the spark that lit the fire, and the men turned slowly, then stepped forward to fight.

One man with a knife dropped it, kicked it away, and grabbed Wix’s gun. The others started pulling out weapons of their own. From what Wilson could see from the dim spotlight, two of them had pistols. The other two had long blades, but weapons like that were child’s play now.

The man with Wix’s AK-47 began firing rapidly at Maxwell and Wilson. With the shield still around them, though growing smaller by the minute now, the bullets broke into pieces and landed with loud thumps in the wall and on the floor. When the bullets stopped ricocheting, Wilson shot at the man’s shoulder and heard a painful cry follow. Wilson was filled with pride as he watched him fall back. When his other friends began to shoot with their own pistols, he did the same to them as he did with the man before.

Wilson made sure not to hit a fatal area. As much as it embarrassed him to say at this level in the game, he couldn’t bring himself to kill a man. Even when the shield was buffering, near collapsing, and the last two men were charging towards him, he shot only their arms and legs. The blood from their wounds littered the ground in pools and speckles. It made the air reek of iron.

He saw a bright light shine through the building again. The doors had been opened. Wilson watched as the men began to retreat one by one. He didn’t bother stopping them. It wasn’t worth the trouble.

Wilson tried to remember the last time he felt this accomplished. He had never felt so much adrenaline going through him, and his chest was teeming with pride. He was proud of himself for something, which was something very rare. He basked in the glorious feeling.

His time of satisfaction was interrupted when the familiar humming of the shield quieted. He looked over to find their protection gone and Maxwell ready to fall. The Codex Umbra had slipped from Maxwell’s arms and onto the crimson-stained floor; he was too weak to carry such a heavy thing. Wilson threw his pistol to the ground and swiftly ran over to catch him. Though Maxwell was a much taller man than him, Wilson’s energy allowed him to carry his confidant with ease. He wrapped Maxwell’s arm around his neck and held his hand for extra support.

“Easy now. Steady,” Wilson muttered. “I’ve got you.”

After a few seconds Maxwell started to regain his step. Wilson made sure they stayed balanced as he lowered Maxwell to the floor. The cool cement might have provided some relief for him. Wilson moved to his side and looked him over.

“Maxwell, talk to me.” He placed a hand on the back of his neck, like they had done on the peaceful ride over that seemed like it was ages ago.

Maxwell looked up to Wilson with tired eyes. “Get.. the book.”

Wilson hesitated for a moment but complied. He ran across the floor and grabbed the Codex Umbra, then raced just as quickly back.

“I’ve got it. Now what?”

“Turn.. to page 128. You will find.. the teleportation spell.. there.” Maxwell was talking in heaves, but he was talking clearer than he was before. Wilson took this as a very good sign, but then he asked himself: who was going to recite it?

“Maxwell, do you want _me_ to read it? I will, for you, but what if I make a mistake? I’m not sure..”

Wilson was cut short of his speech when Maxwell placed a hand over his. Wilson looked down to it and then back to Maxwell’s eyes. He could see the slightest hint of life in them now.

“I know you can do it, Wilson. You’re the smartest man I know.. remember?” Maxwell grinned, and Wilson felt himself do the same. The same pride that he felt after handling the mob a few minutes ago surged through him once again. Hfs flipped through the book. until he found what he was looking for: page 128, the teleportation spell. Thank God he took Latin in high school, or this plan would have been bust.

Even so, he didn’t speak it fluently. He stuttered painfully as he tried to pour out the words. How did Maxwell make this so easy?

“Uhm.. N-Nere in ventos anima mea,  
anima eorum in s-sanguine meo, et sollers arrepto-“

A cold and dark gale now spun around the men. It only pooled at their feet, but it still held a mighty force. Wilson felt fright course through him, but he continued reading anyway. “Accipe spiritum meum in tempestate, et mutare-“

“You fucking bastard,” a raspy voice in the corner said. “I’m gonna blow your brains out. I should have done it in the fucking beginning! To the both of you.”

Wilson had forgotten all about Wix, or he at least thought his henchmen would take him when they scrammed. They weren’t very loyal, were they? At least his threats were empty, because Wix was crawling on the floor empty handed. There were a few weapons scattered, but his main focus was getting out of there before Wix could use them.

Wilson continued. “Et mutare locum, non stabit,” he paused, the wind growing larger and whipping the fabric of his clothes around. “Ex mandatum meum, ut domum!”

As Wix continued to crawl in vain on the floor, Wilson turned around and looked to Maxwell. He grabbed his nimble hand to help him get up and smiled. Finally, they were going home again. Away from this cold, dark place of shadows, that Wix somehow got the upper hand in.

Maxwell smiled back to him in normal, sly way he so enjoyed. It was only a second before they both became invisible, for wind was now clouding them to the point where it was utterly black. The strong sound of the gale spinning around them filled his ears, and just before they could finally make their grand escape..

The crack of a gun. Wilson felt a sharp pain go through his back, and it suddenly felt very difficult to breathe. His insides shook with a great force that was unfamiliar to him. His knees gave way as he felt his body being lifted, and he found himself falling onto and clutching Maxwell like he was his life source. The Codex Umbra was pressed between them now. Wilson didn’t know if it was on purpose, but he couldn’t care very much. His eyelids were closing, slowly but surely, and he felt his breathing slow as they disappeared into what was now the great unknown. 

If he wasn’t crazy, Wilson could have sworn the last sound he heard in that building were faint fits of Wix’s laughter. 

_Bitch._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 50’s Slang Dictionary:
> 
> Bust it - To reveal
> 
> Make it snappy - Do this quickly
> 
> -
> 
> This chapter was a bit.. strange. I wanted to write a new one because I was oddly inspired on one of my school field trips! There isn’t much to say about it. It’s pretty obvious what happened. But if you have any questions go ahead!!  
> And thank you guys for your continuing support. Reading your comments and seein your kudos honestly brightens my day so much.


	9. Like Real People Do

Wilson awoke to the bedroom ceiling of his apartment. The lights were dimmed, which he was silently thankful for. His muscles and back ached to high heavens, but he didn’t say a word. He questioned it at first. Then the memories began to come back to him.

 _Maxwell_ , he thought as panic began to flood his mind. _Where’s Maxwell?_

When he jerked forward, his body immediately began to protest in agony. He couldn’t help but let out a small cry at the sudden movement. His body forced him to collapse again, much to his dismay. The warm blanket covering him had shifted when he did, exposing his collarbone, and the pale skin of his chest with it. Wilson lifted his heavy arm to move the blanket away from his abdomen, and found himself shirtless beneath it. His stomach was wrapped up in tight bandages. How had he not felt them before?

He reached down and brushed his fingers over the smooth, secure binding. Despite there being much of it covering him, he didn’t notice any flaw in the pure white of the bandages. No blood could be seen, at least from where he was. In his moment of curiosity, he snapped out of thought to remember Maxwell. He was able to lift himself on his elbow after a bit of struggling, and looked around the room while his neck objected.

Beside him, a tall man in a pitiful position was asleep. Wilson smiled to himself at the sight, but he flinched when he saw Maxwell shift. The tall man turned over, and opened his dark eyes. Maxwell was awake now, but with heavy bags under his eyes and his suit seemingly ruined.

Maxwell slid a hand across his face before his vision finally became clear. He looked beside him to connect eyes with Wilson, who looked like a dear caught in headlights. But Maxwell didn’t care about that. He could only pay attention to how rapidly his heart was beating now. Maxwell slowly rose up, and Wilson watched with an intent gaze. He wasn’t sure what Max was planning, but planned to stay put.

“Maxwell?” Wilson said, “is everything ok-“

Maxwell, formerly laying beside him, promptly wrapped him with long arms in a warm embrace. Wilson’s breath caught in his throat, and his arms remained helpless and hovering beside his head. When he regained his senses, he hugged back. He shut his eyes too, taking in the pleasant feeling.

“God, Wilson,” Maxwell murmured into Wilson’s shoulder, “you scared me. You were asleep for so long.. 3 days. I didn’t know if you were okay. But the hospital.. I couldn’t take you.”

“It’s okay, Max,” Wilson whispered. “I’m here. You’re here. That’s what matters, okay?”

Silence engulfed them for a while. It was so strange to think that someone so mysterious and powerful could actually care for someone so below him. They continued to hug, but Wilson had a few questions on his mind he needed to ask. He pulled back to look the other in the eye.

“Maxwell,” he started, hesitant, “I need to know what happened. Can you tell me? Please? My memory is very poor.”

Maxwell gripped Wilson’s hands and rubbed his thumb over Wilson’s knuckles. “Yes, of course. When we were teleported from that abandoned building, you were shot in your back. We were able to get back here, and though I had recovered slightly, I was still weak. However, I figured my adrenaline might be enough to get the bullet dislodged and reverse the damage before I put any real damage on myself.

So, since you were still conscious, I gave you a few painkillers and went to work. I was able to reverse what happened with the Codex Umbra, but I wasn’t really able to see to it that you were okay until I woke up quite a while later. I guess I did wind up passing out, but you were still asleep, here, where I last left you. I put a blanket over you and bandaged you, just in case, but all I could do was wait after that.”

Wilson was impressed at Maxwell’s quick thinking in that situation. He hadn’t seemed to panic and was quick to get to work. He smiled a bit at the thought of Maxwell taking care of him, and waiting for _him_ of all people.

“Thank you, Maxwell,” Wilson said. His appreciation was genuine. “I never thought someone would actually do something like that.. for me. As bizarre as the situation is, you still helped me. Without that book, we would have been goners, too.” Wilson sat up to get closer to Maxwell, but his muscles ached and made him fall back again. He hissed through his teeth while Maxwell watched, eyes wide with concern.

“I know your muscles are sore, but I didn’t know they’d be hurting you so bad. Maybe I can find another spell to help you. Since I got the rest I needed, I think I have the energy.”

Wilson liked the idea, but didn’t like the effect it might have on Maxwell. “I don’t know if you should risk it. I mean, last time you used it, you were down for a while.”

“I was just using it for too long. I wore myself out,” Maxwell said, gripping Wilson’s hands. “This should be short and simple. I may be tired for a minute or two, but it’s nothing long-term.”

Wilson bit his lip. He still wasn’t so sure, but Maxwell had much more knowledge about the use of the Codex Umbra than he did.

Maxwell seemed to detect his uneasiness. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine, alright? I just.. want to make you feel better.”

Wilson mulled over it for a few more seconds. He wanted to take in that warm feeling in his stomach, and make sure everything really would be okay.

“Alright. Go ahead.”

Maxwell stood and fetched his book. When he went back to Wilson, he stood to the side of him and flipped through the pages. It didn’t take him long to find exactly what they needed.

“Brace yourself. This may feel strange,” Maxwell said.

Wilson hummed in reply. He waited patiently under the blankets as Maxwell silently read over the incantation again. When he began to chant, Wilson’s mind became confused at the strange language. But not soon after, he felt his whole body burn ever so slightly. He hissed at the feeling, but it wasn’t enough to cause him serious pain. Maxwell continued to read, as he was trying to finish the spell in one go, and get it over with.

When it was all over, Wilson rolled his shoulders and marveled at how no pain struck him anymore. He tried to recognize the ache in his back, but he did not feel it. He sat up and looked in his lap, trying to catch his breath. For some reason, the spell had worn him out a bit too.

Maxwell was still watching him from the side. He shut his book and placed a gloved hand on Wilson’s shoulder.

“Wilson? Are you feeling any better?”

Wilson paused. “Yeah. Yeah I am. Thank you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Maxwell did not appear to look any different, but Wilson could see his chest taking more deep breaths than usual.

“Would it hurt you if I kissed you?” Wilson asked, unsure if Maxwell would be able to breathe well if he did without asking first.

Maxwell shook his head. “I don’t believe so.”

Wilson hadn’t really initiated a real kiss with Maxwell before. It was always of Maxwell to make the first move, but Wilson wanted to, quite badly, actually. So he placed a hand on the man’s face, and placed his lips on Maxwell’s.

It was so gentle, so perfect, Wilson could immediately feel himself becoming accustomed to it again. When he leaned in deeper, Maxwell followed suit. Wilson could feel the heat between them growing. Wilson placed a hand on Maxwell’s chest, wanting to say something to top this off.

“Thank you. For everything, you know. I know you’re busy, and you have a lot to watch over, but you always let me tag along on your little adventures. It’s strange to think how such an important,” he paused and shifted his hand on the fabric, “ _handsome_ man could let someone like me stick around.”

Maxwell hummed and pulled Wilson into his chest. “How so?”

“How so what?”

“What do you mean ‘let someone like me’ stick around?”

Wilson had to think about his answer. “Well, I’m not the biggest or baddest looking, and I never had interactions with crime organizations before this. I’m skinny and pale, and I have such dark circles around my eyes, I look like a lonely night owl. I’m not very impressive.”

Maxwell tilted his head to get a better look at Wilson. “I like you for your skills. Your intelligence is a unique thing; not many people I have met are as smart as you.” He paused, biting his lip. “And I couldn’t think of a better partner.”

Wilson felt himself brighten up. Partner? He pulled himself back from Maxwell’s chest. “I’m your partner?”

“Well,” Maxwell shrugged, “if you want to be, I mean. Would being a partner in crime to one of the best godfather’s in the world suit your wishes?”

Wilson felt his heart rate increase dramatically. He was absolutely euphoric at this point. “Yes! Yes, of course it would! I-I.. can I quit my job?”

“We do pay you,” Maxwell said, “so I don’t see why not.”

“Finally! This is incredible, a dream. Is this a dream? Oh, God. No more of that stupid job. No more stupid paperwork.” He was quick to wrap Maxwell, even with his small figure, in a strong hug. “Thank you!” He kissed him again, with more power and joy than he had with anyone before. Maxwell gladly accepted the kiss, and leaned forward eagerly.

 

**-**

 

“You hired some fucking amateur scientist?! With _no experience_ in the Mafia?! I can’t even believe you, Maxwell. This is a prestigious line of work, and you want to soil it with some.. some kid!” Charlie sighed and threw herself onto a chair. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

“Charlie, you don’t understand. This ‘kid’ is a fucking genius!” Maxwell was determined to prove to Charlie that Wilson was a valuable asset, but she was being frustratingly difficult. “He’s been on a few trips with me anyway. He even used the Codex Umbra last time! He can read Latin! Name three guys in the Carter Family that can read Latin.”

Charlie sighed. “Max, as one of your top assistants, you should have at least asked me to advise you first on this decision. I’ve only seen him once, and that was from a photograph.”

“I know, Charlie, but I need you to trust me on this. We need him. He’s exactly what we’re looking for.” He finished off his sentence with a sigh. “He’s perfect for this.”

Charlie was silent for a beat. She sat quietly in deep thought, while Maxwell watched.

“Maxwell,” Charlie said, rising from her seat, “are you going soft for him?”

Maxwell took a second to process exactly what she was saying. He was quick to deny the claim. “No. Never. He’s just a..” What was Wilson to him, he asked himself. And what were they?

He waved his hand with a huff, and a spin on his heel to turn away.

Charlie placed a hand on Maxwell’s shoulder and spun the man back around. She held his chin between her fingers, and cast a warm look. “I know you’ve been gone more frequently. This past week, you weren’t organizing anything for the family for 3 days. You hadn’t even been seen.” She paused. “I know you want to be with him, Maxwell. I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with him. But if you really like him, think of all that you’re dragging him into with this. The Carter Family is one of the most successful in New York, and we’re targeted quite often. What would you do if something happened to him?” She asked sternly.

“Nothing would. He knows how to take care of himself, and I would protect him,” Maxwell insisted. “So would everyone else, once he proved himself. He is smart, like I told you. And I’ve taught him most of what he needs to know.”

“But what if he’s shot? What if you weren’t there to go off and save him? He could die in some alleyway just for being discovered as a member. What would you do?”

“I’ve saved him once before! I could do it again!” Maxwell was getting tearful at these scenarios now. God, what a mess he was.

“What? Maxwell, what aren’t you telling me?”

Maxwell was silent. He ran a hand along his face, and knew he should spill. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone else about this. Okay?”

Charlie didn’t like the sound of that. “Maxwell,” she began, but was cut off.

“Just- please. Promise me.”

Charlie could see the exhaustion in Maxwell’s eyes. This was something that clearly meant a great deal to him, at least for him to tell. “Okay. I promise.”

Maxwell had to regain his thoughts before he explained everything. The search in that building with Wilson, finding Wix, fighting Wix, being helped up and assisted by Wilson, and helping Wilson read the Codex Umbra. Then the flash of black, the gunshot, and disappearing.

Charlie was silent when he was finished. Maxwell could only scan her face in hopes of spotting some reaction. He didn’t see any for a moment. Then Charlie spoke again.

“You’re right. He does seem have potential.”

Maxwell lit up at that statement. But she wasn’t finished.

“However, he still could have died. That was risky, Max. You’re intelligent, and talented as well, but you must use your skill to show Wilson how to survive and thrive within this group.”

“I will, but he will have to get used to this environment as well. He will still be entering as my assistant, but I will make sure he learns more than he already has in his own time with me. Alright?”

Charlie sighed. “Alright.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Maxwell’s cheek, then smiled. “Just know, with whatever happens, I’m happy you’ve found someone. Really.”

Maxwell felt the same.

 

**-**

 

Maxwell returned to Wilson’s house to find an experimenting Wilson in the study. He seemed too focused to notice Maxwell, but Maxwell was scanning the other up and down. He was wearing a much different getup than he had ever seen him in. Wilson was wearing a white lab coat, and a particularly long one too, with a pair of goggles around his head. Maxwell noticed string behind the ears, and caught a slight glimpse of a mask covering Wilson’s face. The man was even wearing gloves. He looked like a true scientist. Maybe the uniform was for certain cases only.

He strode across the living room and into Wilson’s small office. He was careful not to disturb the experiment, but couldn’t help but notice how much of a mess Wilson’s work space was, and how his sleeves were now currently submerged in a purple goo of some kind. Wilson was working with a vial with some blue, bubbling substance in a container that sat over a small flame. He was putting god-knows-what into the concoction, but boy, was he doing it fast.

“Wilson?” Maxwell prodded. When that didn’t seem to get his attention, he tried again. “Uh, Wilson?” He placed a hand on Wilson’s shoulder. Wilson jumped and let out a small shriek at the intrusion, but was quick to calm down after seeing who it was. He said something from behind his mask, but Maxwell couldn’t quite understand him. When he shook his head back and forth, Wilson realized why Max was confused. He spoke as he removed the mask.

“Well, if it isn’t Maxwell,” Wilson scolded playfully. “Where have you been all day?” He proceeded to the sink, where he removed his dirty gloves and submerged his rubber labcoat in a pool of water. “I had to start on a new experiment without you,” he said, removing his other accessories one after the other.

“I needed to go fill in Charlie on the good news,” Maxwell said, “and it took a bit longer than I expected. We had a bit of a disagreement, but it was sorted out.”

“About what?” Wilson asked, still moving back and forth between his study and the kitchen to clean up and save his work for later. Maxwell couldn’t quite believe how a man of Wilson’s size could be such a trooper.

“Your new place in the Family,” Maxwell eventually responded.

“I’m thrilled to be working with you, Maxwell. I really am.” Wilson was now pacing over to him, his usual red vest on with the black pants. “I hope you feel the same.”

“Yes, of course I do. But..”

“Yes?”

Maxwell couldn’t lie. He had been pondering what Charlie said about Wilson being safe. He was worried that if they did go check out something, in the cases that they weren’t working with the other Family members, Maxwell wouldn’t be able to help him if something happened. Though Wilson took the bullet well from last time, Wilson was lucky they were already on their way out when he was hit. And thank god he was okay in the end.

“Maxwell?” Wilson pulled Maxwell out of his thoughts and shook his shoulder. “But what?”

Maxwell gathered up his thoughts in the short pause between them. “I’m just worried that you’ll get hurt. That something will happen.”

Another moment of silence. “I understand, but I can take care of myself,” Wilson assured.

“I know. I know you can,” Maxwell said, “but if we’re going to let you be my assistant, you need to train for anything that could happen, Codex Umbra or not.”

“Okay. I can do that.” Wilson was attempting to brighten the mood, and beamed once again. “With the proper training, I will become an expert not only in the sciences, but in the art of magic and mystery!”

Maxwell smiled to the shorter man. He felt a bit of the weight on his shoulders and heart life away. Maxwell grabbed Wilson’s hands, and kissed his cheek. “And I know you’ll do great.”

Wilson flushed in his face under the warm touches. He didn’t know what to say, so he attempted to start up conversation. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you this for quite some time. How does the Carter Family get their money? I haven’t heard of many of your techniques.”

Maxwell felt embarrassed to say. Now that he thought about it, it was quite shameful. But Wilson surely had to know about it somewhat. “We sell and do, you know, illegal things. We have a fine reputation of running some illegal bars as well. Selling illegal drugs, and, er, prostitution. We use extortion too, sometimes. You know gambling is one, due to your experience. I don’t think you’ve seen us work our magic with everything else though.”

Wilson slowly lost his cheerful smile, which made Maxwell ache slightly. Maxwell tried to cut through the silence that formed between them. “Did you really not know that’s how we got our money?”

“No. I mean, not really. Everything else fine and all, but extortion? You threaten others for their money?”

“Well, not always me, specifically. I have other members organize the deals for me,” he muttered, his face flushing.

Wilson furrowed his brows. He loosened the grip on Maxwell’s hands. Maxwell took in a sharp breath, and led Wilson to the sofa with a graceful hand. “Look, we’re better than the other mafia groups. We _actually_ protect the groups in exchange for their money, not just lie to them about the criminals out there.” He sat Wilson down next to him and gently spoke.

“Really?” Wilson asked.

“Yes, of course,” Maxwell assured, moving a big closer now. “I wouldn’t lie to you. Why hadn’t you asked me before though?”

“I didn’t know if it was private. Anyway, I’m glad I know what I’m working for now.”

“And you’re still okay with it?”

“Yes,” Wilson responded. “I was only worried about extorting innocent people. But since you’re trustworthy, I know you’re protecting them, and not just lying. Right?”

“Yes, I am not lying. I’m glad you understand,” Maxwell said, “and I’m glad you feel more secure now. Are there any other questions you’d like to ask me?”

Wilson’s mood brightened, and that old smile came back. “What was your job _before_ you came into the Mob?” The question had also been pestering him for some time.

Now it was Maxwell’s turn to shy away. “God, it’s too embarrassing.”

“Oh, now you _have_ to tell me. I’m curious.” Wilson moved to Maxwell’s lap and wrapped a gentle arm around the others shoulder. In a playful sort of way, he batted his eyelashes. “Come on. It can’t be that bad.”

Maxwell wiped his face with his hand, and let his head fall onto the back of the sofa. “You really wanna know?”

“Really.”

Maxwell groaned. “Ugh, fine,” he drawled. “I used to run,” he took a breath, “a magic show.”

Wilson gasped, and hit Maxwell’s chest playfully. “No way!”

“Yes, ‘way’. I was a young man back then, and it didn’t get very popular. Another assistant of mine, Charlie, tried to help me succeed, but I never did. She’s been working with me for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you keep trying? You would have made a great stage magician.”

“I got in a train accident, and was left to fend for myself for a while. I had to put my dreams on hold. After a while of wandering through god-knows-where, I found the Codex Umbra. It was a useful tool in my survival, once I learned how to properly use it, but it’s appeal made me crave power, not mere stage tricks. So I put in some work, some practice, some persuading, and here I am. It was difficult enough for me before the accident anyway. I could barely afford to put food on the table, much less buy props for a magic show.”

Wilson still had that curious glint in his eyes. “Did you have a stage name?”

“Maxwell _is_ my stage name. My real name is William. William Carter, to be exact.”

Wilson tried not to smile, but Maxwell could see his struggle. “Go ahead, laugh. I think it’s funny too.”

Wilson did just that. He pressed his forehead into his hand and laughed for a good while, while Maxwell watched.

“Yes, that’s my real name, but I go by Maxwell now. So you can stick with that name, and that name only, if you please.”

Wilson’s laughter began to die down, and he turned to face Maxwell once again. He sighed, and fiddled with the lapels of Maxwell’s jacket. “Well, William,” he said forcefully, “I think Maxwell is much better name for you as well, but if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to ask a favor of your past self now.”

“Mhm, and what is the favor exactly?”

“Would you mind teaching me a few of your tricks?”

Maxwell barked a laugh. “Not at all.”

“Really?”

“We can start tomorrow, after your training. Would that fit your schedule?”

Wilson grinned, shut his eyes, and leaned into Maxwell. “I think I could make a few adjustments.”

Maxwell ran a gloved hand through Wilson’s hair, and closed his eyes. He looked to the man on top of him, and his heartbeat increased. Wilson was so mysterious and strange that it was captivating. He could change entirely into a new person with one question, and Maxwell admired that.

He quietly admired Wilson’s slow breathing, his handsome features, his wild hair, and his intricate personality as he slept. Soon enough, Maxwell was asleep too, with only the worries of tomorrow to bother them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 50s Slang Dictionary:
> 
> * (No Words To Mention)
> 
> -
> 
> this chapter was so long y’all. 4028 words, to be exact! my fingers are dead.
> 
> sorry that these chapters have been kind of anticlimatic. i plan to put more explicit (heheh) Maxwil in here when the next chapter rolls around. i’m a very shy person when it comes to writing NSFW, but i hope i can push my limits of writing for this story.
> 
> i also threw in some Maxwell/William Carter lore! the information i put about his past was taken from the information we recieve from the game puzzles. i got all my information for the William Carter wikipedia page. 
> 
> and yes, the title of this chapter is a reference to the song by the song Like Real People Do by Hozier. i love it so much.


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